


Blindfolded

by Thraceadams



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amnesiac Derek, Canonical Character Death, Future Fic, M/M, Minor Character Death, Panic Attacks, Sterek Big Bang, Temporary Amnesia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-08
Updated: 2014-01-08
Packaged: 2018-01-07 21:55:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 54,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1124821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thraceadams/pseuds/Thraceadams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the unthinkable happens, Stiles decides he's had enough and leaves Beacon Hills. For good. He cuts all ties and disappears. Until two years later when Derek turns up in his favorite coffee shop going by the name of Norman, claiming to have found Stiles by scent and with no memory of being Derek Hale. Now Stiles must decide if he's going to help Derek and let himself get dragged back into the hell that was Beacon Hills or if he's going to maintain the separation he's achieved and leave Derek to fend for himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blindfolded

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to **TommyGlitter** for the Betawork - she had a TOUGH JOB. All remaining mistakes are mine.
> 
> Thank you to **qafmaniac** for the AMAZING artwork! (The emails embedded? The banner? The dividers? Yeah, that's ALL HER) She did a soundtrack that you can find **[HERE](https://www.4shared.com/download/C4LWw3y1ba/Blindfolded_mix.zip)** You can find the rest of her artwork **[on Dreamwidth HERE](http://qafmaniac.dreamwidth.org/303951.html)** or **[ on Livejournal HERE ](http://qafmaniac.livejournal.com/235393.html)** PLEASE GO LEAVE HER SOME LOVE, SHE DESERVES IT!
> 
> I played a bit fast and loose with the timeline. And this goes divergent at the end of season 3A. See the end for details on the minor character death *hides* Sorry :((((((
> 
>  
> 
> EDITED: (Thanks to Bleep0Bleep for use of her disclaimer)
> 
> **This work is intended for the private enjoyment of the reader. I do not give permission to this work being shared with or read aloud by the press, or anyone working on said production of Teen Wolf, including but not limited to cast, crew, writers, or producers. I also do not give permission to share this work on third-party websites such as Goodreads, which I believe is a resource intended for published works outside of fandom.**

_If I was blindfolded_  
_If my memory was erased_  
_If every sign pointed to another place_  
_I'd still find you_  
_I will still find you_  
_I'd still find you_  
_If I was blindfolded_

-        Kris Allen

 

Stiles stood in the rain, barely registering the umbrella being held over his head. Images flashed in his head, acceptance letters, wolves, the Prom, Scott walking off with Isaac, Allison's look of pity, and blood, so much blood. He closed his eyes and swallowed hard, refusing to look at anyone, refusing to look anywhere but the brown box draped with the US flag that would soon be lowered into the ground carrying his whole life with it.

He didn't hear a word the minister or anyone else said to him. He didn't acknowledge any pack member, not even Scott when Scott pulled him into a hug, or the conspicuous absence of Derek. He just stood there, stiffly, waiting for everyone to leave.

"Stiles?" Ms. Morrell's voice sounded behind him.

"It's okay, I just, I need some time to myself," he cleared his throat, trying to get rid of the lump that had taken up permanent residence there. "With him. With them."

"At least take the umbrella."

"No," he said sharply, before closing his eyes in frustration. "Please?" He turned pleading eyes to her, hating the sorrow and pity he could see in her dark eyes. "Just, I promise I'm not going to do anything stupid. I'll meet you back at your office this afternoon; I think there are things we need to discuss."

"Okay, Stiles, if that's what you want."

He nodded, saying nothing, and never watched her leave. The rain continued to fall but he ignored it, only moving away so the gravediggers could lower the casket into the ground. Stiles stood several rows over behind some foliage while the backhoe shoveled dirt in to fill the hole until finally he was alone, more alone than he'd been his entire life.

"I miss you. Jesus, it's only been a week and already I miss you so much, it fucking hurts so much all the fucking time. Why did you have to be a fucking hero? I needed you!" he screamed, balling his fists up at his side. "I needed you. More than they did. He was just a fucking kid, he wasn't going to do anything until you had to be the big damn hero and flash your stupid badge, as if he didn't know you were the Sheriff, what with your uniform and all. And Derek, what the hell? Derek was there! Why didn't he stop it? It's not like he needed to keep things a secret from you. He could have easily stopped that kid and I'm sure between you and Danny and a few others it could have been covered up. But no, he what? Watched you move toward the kid, watched as you took a bullet for some lady? Or was it something else? The stories coming out are pretty murky, only that you jumped in front of someone to take a bullet for them."

Stiles started to pace, running his hand through his hair, water dripping down his face. "And he couldn't have offered you the bite? Not that you would have taken it, or would you? If he'd offered would you have accepted? Knowing how much your death was going to _kill_ me? You're not the only one that still misses her! I miss her too! She was my mom and fuck, you don't get to leave me like this. You don't, it's not fucking fair! How fucking dare you!"

He dropped to his knees, the mud soaking through his pants going unnoticed. Punching a fist into the ground, he yelled again. "Who the fuck do you think you are leaving me?" His fists squelched through the mud, spattering his sleeves and the front of his shirt with each impact they made. "You weren't supposed to die; you were never supposed to die. Why did you have to go and do that?"

The sobs came then; deep wracking sobs that made his entire body shake. All the grief and pain and anger he'd been holding in for years came pouring out into the dirt and water over his father's grave until there was nothing left inside. When the tears finally stopped, Stiles felt hollowed out. He wiped his face with the back of his hand, ignoring the mud that ended up streaking his cheeks. Standing on wobbly legs, he looked down at the fresh grave and then over to his mother's headstone.

"I love you both," he whispered. He pressed a kiss to his fingertips and touched the top of his mother's headstone. Without another word he turned and left.

Just as he made it to the Jeep, the rain slowed to a stop and the sun started peeking out from behind the clouds and a bitter laugh escaped, sounding harsh even to his own ears. He glanced up at the sky and with a disgruntled snort he climbed behind the wheel and took off, heading toward his house.

The drive seemed to take forever but finally he was pulling into his driveway, tires screeching. He hopped out and jogged up the front steps, opening the door. He hadn't bothered to lock it, didn't see the point. Stiles raced up the stairs, bounding into his room and rummaging through the papers on his desk until he found the envelope he was looking for. Clutching it in his hands he ran back down the stairs, got back into the Jeep and headed off for the school.

The drive to the school was much shorter and within a few minutes, he was walking quickly down the hall toward her office, grateful it was a weekend so the hallway was empty. He knocked once and at her soft "come in" he opened the door, walked up to her desk and handed her the now crumpled envelope.

"I wanna go. I need your help and we don't have much time."

Ms. Morrell looked up at him, her eyes softening as she took in the now dried and caked on mud that Stiles just realized he was covered in. Taking a look at himself, he could feel his cheeks heat up. "Sorry, I just, I wanna get this done. No, I _need_ to get this done and I need your help. Please?"

"Have a seat, Stiles, and let me read through it, see what we're working with."

Stiles turned and closed the door before he dragged the plastic chair by the door over to her desk and sat down. He couldn't help bouncing his leg and chewing on his thumbnail while she read over the letter and the accompanying package.

He sat quietly while she picked up the phone and made a few phone calls, tried to keep his heart in check while she argued with the person on the other line, stared out the window when she described the 'special circumstances' only to look back when she hung up to see the satisfied grin on her face.

"So?"

"It's doable. Are you sure this is what you want?"

"Yeah, I'm sure. There's nothing left for me here."

Her dark eyes widened a bit. "What about Scott? Your other friends?"

Stiles let out a snort of disdain. "What other friends? Lydia's leaving for MIT or Cal Tech or Stanford or some other brainiac school. She doesn't want to be here anymore than I do. Boyd was killed but he wasn't really living after Erica…" his voice trailed off.  Clearing his throat and swallowing against the lump that threatened to choke him, he continued. "Danny's with Ethan, which, sorry, I know you were their emissary and all, but no, not after what happened. Allison. Allison has her own issues to deal with; she doesn't need mine. And Scott, well, he's got Isaac, that should tell you all you need to know."

"I see. What about Derek?"

Anger surged through him and he dug his nails into his palms. "What. About. Derek."

"He, I mean, shouldn't, you, he," she sighed in obvious frustration.

"Like I said, there's nothing left for me here."

"What are you going to do about the house and stuff?"

"My father had a really good attorney, who I guess is now my attorney. Plus, seems like the county has pretty damn good provisions for the family members of cops killed in the line of duty. With my scholarship and the sale of the house, coupled with Dad's benefits, I should do just fine until I graduate and get a job of my own, provided I live on campus and get some sort of on-campus job to help defray my living expenses."

"Okay, if this is what you want."

"I do," Stiles nodded. "And I want to keep this between us. What I'm going to do with my life now is nobody's business but mine." _Not that anyone would care,_ Stiles thought bitterly.

"Whatever you want Stiles. I'm just here to help. I need to get some paperwork together, give that lovely man a call back and let him know we'll be emailing him all the requirements by the end of business Monday."

"Thanks, um, I think I gave you everything I needed to, pretty sure my part is done. Just um, I don't know, call me if it isn't? I'll just be at the house getting things squared away."

"Are you going to walk?"

"For graduation?"

She nodded.

"I don't know. I'll have to get back to you on that."

"Your father would have been so proud of you, watching you walk across that stage and get your diploma. He wouldn't have wanted you to miss that."

"No, he wouldn't have, but he's not here is he?"

Stiles ran a hand through his hair, mud flaking off as he did and showering brown dust into his lap. "Um, I should probably go, get cleaned up. I’ve got a lot of stuff to do over the next two weeks."

He stood up and reached across the desk to shake her hand. "Thank you, for um, everything I guess. Let me know when that goes through, okay?"

"Sure thing, Stiles. I'm sorry about your Dad."

He turned to her, his hand on the doorknob. "Thanks."

Opening the door, he walked out, closing the door quietly behind him.

The next two weeks flew by in a flurry of meetings with the lawyer, packing, and phone calls with Ms. Morrell and Johns Hopkins. Stiles ended up attending the graduation ceremony but he didn't go to any of the parties and he barely spoke to anyone outside of Ms. Morrell, and a very weird conversation with Coach who ended up quoting some movie at him.

When it was all said and done, Stiles stood in the middle of the empty living room and looked around. He'd been right when he'd told Ms. Morrell there was nothing left for him here. Lydia had already taken off for whatever school she'd decided on. That left Scott, Isaac, and Derek. None of them had come by or called, but then he hadn't contacted them either. Things hadn't been right with Scott ever since Stiles had refused to choose between him and Derek. Stiles thought Scott had pushed things too far, rubbing his 'true Alpha' status in Derek's face one too many times. He'd stuck by Derek's side because Derek didn't have anyone else and Stiles knew how that felt. But still, it hurt, Scott being so wrapped up in being Alpha of his own Pack that he hadn't even noticed just how much Stiles was hurting, but maybe it was for the best. Stiles could leave with little fanfare, no tears, and a free conscience.

"You ready?"

He looked over at Ms. Morrell where she was standing in the door.

"Yeah, um, can I just take a minute? Take a look through one last time? Do we have time for that?"

"Yes, Stiles, take all the time you need. I'll be waiting by the car."

Stiles walked slowly up the stairs to his room and walked to the middle of it, slowly turning in a circle, images playing through his head. His mom reading his favorite book at bedtime, his father standing in the doorway with tickets to a Mets game, Derek lurking in the corner wanting him to research something, and Scott, so many memories of Scott. Clenching his hand into a fist, Stiles turned around one final time before whispering, "Goodbye."

Shouldering his backpack, he trudged down the stairs and out the door, locking it behind him. When he got to his Jeep, Ms. Morrell was standing there. He handed her the house keys and she smiled up at him.

"You sure?"

He raised an eyebrow at her.

She shrugged, her hair ruffling in the wind. "I had to ask, one last time."

Pulling him into a hug, she held him close. "Take care of yourself Stiles. You have my number; call me if you need anything."

Squeezing his arms, she let him go and stepped back. "Be safe."

"I will. I'll let you know when I get there, plus you know, I'll have to be in contact with the attorney. I'm just glad all that stuff can be handled electronically now. So I won't have to…" The sentence got caught in his throat, and much as it hurt to leave, coming back would be so much harder. Silently he opened the door to his Jeep, throwing the backpack into the passenger side before sliding behind the wheel.

"Goodbye, Stiles."

_Four Weeks Earlier_

Derek staggered out of the convenience store, brushing off the EMTs that were trying desperately to work on him. He snarled at them and they hastened away, off to find someone more amenable to their help. Looking at the chaos around him, Derek clenched his hands into fists, startled when he felt how tight his skin was. He looked down, surprised to see his skin, clear up to his elbows, covered in dried blood.

_The Sheriff's blood._

He closed his eyes, sinking to the ground, hanging his head, hands resting on his thighs, belatedly realizing that his jeans were crusted with dried blood as well. They were tight around his thighs as he knelt on the ground, silent tears coursing down his face. He could smell the blood now, old, dying, rotting. He looked up just in time to see them wheel the Sheriff's body out.

"Stiles," he said. "Stiles, Stiles, someone has to tell Stiles," he repeated over and over until a gentle hand touched his shoulder.

Raising his head, he met Melissa's grief-stricken face.

"Someone has to tell Stiles," he repeated flatly.

"I know, Derek, I know. Come on. Let's get you cleaned up, okay?"

He let her put a hand under his arm and drag him to a standing position.

"Are you injured anywhere?" she asked.

Derek shook his head.

"Okay. The police are going to want to question you. There's a shower at the station you can use and I've got a set of Scott's clothes in my car, they'll probably fit you."

"Stiles, who's gonna tell Stiles?" Derek asked stubbornly.

"Oh sweetheart," Melissa put her arm around his shoulders. "He already knows. He heard about the robbery on the scanner and was over here in a flash. One of the Deputies took him to the hospital with the Sheriff."

"I should," Derek started, pulling out of her grasp.

"He was pretty upset. The best thing you can do right now is go down to the station, get cleaned up, give them your statement. I'll call and check on Stiles."

Her voice brooked no argument so Derek found himself in the back of a squad car, sans handcuffs this time, on his way to the station with a bag of Scott's clothes on the seat beside him.

"We know what you did in there."

Derek glanced up and met the officer's eyes in the mirror. "Staying with the Sheriff until the end. That was mighty good of you. None of us are going to forget that. You need anything, you just let us know."

"Why?" Derek asked quietly. "I didn't save him."

"No, but you were there when he needed you and that's enough for us."

They made the rest of the ride in silence. He was led to the locker room and a private shower when they arrived. Derek stood under the spray and watched the Sheriff's blood as it darkened the water to a muddy brown and swirled down the drain. Derek closed his eyes and pounded a fist against the wall, images of the bullet hitting the Sheriff flashing behind his eyes, and the screams of his family as he watched them burn echoing through his head.

He shoved the panic away, buried it as best he could and finished cleaning off. There was a statement he had to give and if that was the only thing he could do for Stiles today, he was damn well going to do it. Drying off on an old towel, he replayed the events over in his head, trying to make coherent sense out of them so he would be able to give them an accurate statement. By the time he was dressed in Scott's clothes, his head was a bit clearer.

The Deputy that took his statement was having trouble maintaining his composure. It didn't surprise Derek; the Sheriff had been close with all of his people. He was well liked in the community and it was going to take all of them a while to recover. He did his best to answer the Deputy's questions and then wrote out his version of events and signed it. When it was finished, the Deputy drove him back to the convenience store so he could get his car. He sat in the driver's seat staring at the darkened store for a very long time before heading over to Stiles' house.

Lydia answered the door.

"He's sleeping," she said quietly.

"Is he –"

"Okay? No, Derek, he's not okay. His father was shot and killed today. How is he ever going to be okay?"

Derek winced at her words but he understood what she meant.

"Look, maybe tomorrow he'll be up for visitors," her voice softened. "I just, the hospital gave him something to sleep. I gave him a double dose, he needed it."

A car pulled into the driveway and Derek turned, watched as Allison got out, carrying a bag. She smiled at him tentatively.

"Hi."

"Allison."

She squeezed past him and went into the house, briefly hugging Lydia and kissing her on the cheek.

"Look, we got this, okay?"

It didn't take a genius to see that he was being shut out. "Can you just tell him I stopped by? Please."

Allison reappeared, shooting him a sympathetic smile. "Of course, Derek. I'm sure tomorrow he'll want to talk to you."

"Yeah, thanks."

Lydia closed the door and Derek stood there and stared at it stupidly for several long minutes before going back to his car and heading home to the place he shared with Peter and sometimes Isaac. They were both waiting for him on the front porch. At the sight of them, he almost turned around and went back to his old loft. He still had it, kept it for moments like this because at least there he would've been alone.

He got out of the car and Isaac looked at him uncertainly. Derek hated when he did that, but knew it stemmed from his abusive past. Derek nodded almost imperceptibly and Isaac darted off the porch and into his arms. Peter made his way more slowly finally wrapping his arms around both of them. The three of them stood in silence until Derek cleared his throat.

"Let's go inside and no; I really don't want to talk about it. So Peter, why don't you tell me about that pack we need to renegotiate with?"

For the next two hours Derek buried himself in pack business until even Peter grew tired of discussing it and excused himself for the evening. They finally left him alone, sitting in the dark, wishing for the first time in his life that he could get drunk.

Derek wasn't sure how long he sat in the dark, but when it became clear he wasn't going to be able to sleep, he stripped off his clothes, shifted and went running. He ran aimlessly for over an hour before finding himself in Stiles' yard, looking up at the now closed bedroom window. He knew Stiles was home, Derek could hear his heartbeat. He also knew Stiles wasn't asleep despite the lights being out.

The urge to go in and comfort Stiles was almost overwhelming, his hands itched with the need and his arms ached with it. But the closed window was the only sign he needed to know he wasn't welcome. It hurt, knowing that, but he wasn't surprised. He'd watched Stiles' Dad die, actually held him until he bled out in his arms and he did nothing to save him. It didn't take a rocket scientist to come to the conclusion that Stiles blamed him. He probably saw it as just one more way werewolves screwed his life up.

But Derek stood guard anyway. It was the least he could do.

It was early morning when he heard Stiles' voice. Instantly Derek went on alert.

_"I know you're out there and I know you can hear me. I don't want you here. Not now, not ever. You didn't save him when it counted, which means you didn't save me when it counted. I don't need you to stand vigil or watch over me because I’m done. Three years of supernatural shit and my father is taken out by some punk's bullet. And you stood by and did nothing to save him. Goodbye Derek."_

The words stabbed into Derek like a knife, so painful he staggered back against the tree he'd been standing under. He didn't even think, he just shifted and ran.

Four weeks later Stiles left town.

Things went downhill after that. Lydia left about the same time Stiles did, only difference was she actually said goodbye. Nothing formal or anything, he ran into her at the grocery store when she was stocking up on snacks for the road. He wished her the best and that was that.

Scott rarely spoke to him and when he did, it was with barely disguised contempt. The only person holding Scott back from openly challenging him for the entire territory of Beacon Hills was Isaac who somehow remained loyal to both of them.

Derek left all the political pack dealings to Peter; he seemed to have a knack for it. He still didn't trust him completely, but he was left with little choice. He hadn't been raised to be an alpha, and Peter's knowledge of werewolf politics and such was far superior to his.

The only bright spot to anything was the very tenuous truce he and Allison had managed to craft between the Argents and the Hale pack. Allison was much easier to deal with than either of her parents had been, even though she and Scott were off again. It seemed Scott's influence on her, whether he was her boyfriend or not, was beneficial and Derek would take what he could get.

Mostly he kept to himself. He made several half-hearted attempts to find Stiles. He even enlisted Danny's help, but soon figured out Danny was just wasting his time. If Stiles didn't want to be found, maybe he had a good reason for it. Derek thought about hiring a private investigator, but Peter convinced him the money would be better spent elsewhere, like the house or Isaac's college fund.

So Derek let it go. He let a lot of things go.

_Two Years Later_

Stiles stood patiently in line waiting for his coffee to come up. The Starbucks was busier than usual because of the Bio-Ethics conference on campus. It was why he'd left earlier than normal.

"White café mocha with peppermint!"

The barista shouted out the order and Stiles moved to the front to grab it. He was just turning away when he heard his name being shouted.

"Stiles? Stiles!"

The voice sent chills down his spine; he ducked his head, pushed through the crowd and shoved his way out the door. He didn't stop until he was back in his room with the door locked and thanking every God available that he'd managed to obtain a single room. It had taken some phone calls from Ms. Morrell and a note from the doctor he was seeing, but in the end his request had been granted.

Stiles slid down to the floor with his back against the door. Hands shaking, he took a sip of his coffee, regretting the fact that he hadn't had the chance to add the dash of cinnamon he liked.

_"Stiles? Stiles!"_

That voice. He shouldn't have heard that voice. Hadn't heard it in over two years and what the fuck was she doing here? He set the coffee down on the floor and flexed his fingers. Started counting, taking deep breaths and focusing on his breathing because he could feel the panic beginning to set in. He was supposed to be in English comp right now, but it looked like he would be skipping. Good thing the prof liked him.

Holding his head, his eyes shut tight; he tried to concentrate on breathing. In through his nose and out through his mouth. In through his nose and out through his mouth.

The images kept coming though and there was nothing he could do to stop them.

_His mom wasting away in a hospital bed. The disappointed look that had taken up permanent residence on his Dad's face. Scott attacking him in his bedroom. Derek ripping Peter's throat out. The Alpha Pack sending Erica's bloody body back and Boyd going pre-verbal. Scott ditching him for Isaac more times than Stiles could count. Derek ordering him to cut his arm off. Lydia bleeding out on the field. Gerard punching him while he electrocuted Boyd and Erica. Erica's bloody body. His Dad bleeding out in the convenience store. Lydia. Allison. His Dad. The grave. The headstones._

The images were coming so fast that Stiles couldn't keep up and he pressed a fist to his mouth trying to hold in the scream that was threatening to tear out of his throat. Darkness edged in on the periphery of his vision and Stiles wanted it, pleaded for it to come faster because with the darkness came peace. No more images.

When Stiles came back to himself, he had no idea how much time had passed, but after taking a swig of his coffee and grimacing, he knew it had been long enough that his coffee was ice cold. He didn't have a microwave in his room and he didn't want to go down to the kitchen so he just sat on the floor and drank it cold.

Lydia had to be here for the Bio-Ethics conference. It was a big deal. Schools from all over the country had sent student and professor delegates to attend. Stiles was attending it himself. There was going to be no way he would be able to avoid seeing her. The conference simply wasn't big enough. God Damn! He'd run into her at the fucking Starbucks. There'd be no escaping her in a lecture hall.

With a groan of frustration, Stiles crumpled his coffee cup and threw it toward his trash can letting his head bounce back against his door a few times.

"Shit," he muttered.

Finally he stood up, rolled his shoulders back, stretched a bit and trudged over to his desk, flipping the light on. There was nothing he could do about Lydia, except hope to stay out of her way as much as possible. And not wear anything Johns Hopkins for the duration of the conference. Hopefully, he'd be able to convince her he was just another attendee like her and not actually from here.

He pulled the schedule of events out, studied the panels he'd highlighted. The first one was at seven pm tonight. Glancing at his watch, Stiles realized if he was gonna grab something to eat he better hurry. Hastily, he emptied and refilled his backpack, grabbed his wallet and phone and headed out the door.

It was a ten-minute walk to his favorite eating establishment. In no time he was munching away on a grilled chicken salad, reading over the English Comp assignment for Monday and sending his prof an email apologizing for missing class. The sandwich shop was full and the conversations were a pleasant background buzz around him and Stiles started to relax. The familiar surroundings helped and the crowd gave him more confidence that tonight's lecture would be crowded enough that he wouldn't have to worry about Lydia.

He couldn't have been more wrong.

Stiles waited long enough that the hall was half full by the time he arrived. He surveyed the seats, not even lying to himself about looking for Lydia's familiar red hair. Satisfied that she wasn't here, he hurried down the steps and found himself a seat in the middle of the row, in between two of his classmates. Neither he would call friends, but then he only had a few of those here. They were still polite and exchanged comments about how the organic chemistry prof was a pain in the ass and the course had obviously been constructed by the devil himself.

"Stiles."

"Yeah?" Stiles responded turning around before the voice even registered.

Lydia's radiant smile greeted him. "I thought that was you at the coffee shop earlier."

"Lydia," Stiles said, his heart pounding furiously in his chest, his lungs suddenly feeling too small for the amount of air he needed. She was gorgeous, as always, definitely a sight for sore eyes. Dressed in a lavender sweater set and a wool lavender plaid skirt, knee-high boots, she was femininity and strength all wrapped up in a tiny fierce red-headed body.

"What happened to you? You disappeared after…"

"Yeah, well, there was nothing to keep me there, so I left." Just the mention of his home was enough to call up his old habits, his old ways to stave off the panic and shut down his emotions. He'd become an expert at that over the past two years, funny how shit like that came back to you when you needed it. It was like an old familiar coat, sliding easily over his shoulders even after not wearing it for years.

"But you left without saying anything to anyone," she continued.

"Yeah, and I'd like to keep it that way."

She opened her mouth to speak again but the lights dimmed and the speaker at the front tapped the mic, obviously ready to begin. Stiles turned to face the front of the room, effectively stopping all further conversation and if he was lucky as soon as the lecture was over he could duck out of there, leaving Lydia behind.

Stiles had trouble concentrating on the lecture though. Four years ago he would have jumped at the opportunity to talk to Lydia, would have frothed at the mouth over the mere idea of her missing him, noticing that he'd left. Now, all he could think was how he was going to make sure she didn't tell anyone back home that she'd seen him at all.

When the lecture ended and the lights went up, Stiles grabbed his backpack and started making his way toward an exit.

"Stiles! Stiles!"

 He ignored her and kept walking.

"Stiles Stilinski you stop right this minute or I swear I will use every resource at my disposal in an effort to track you down."

Defeat caused his shoulders to slump and Stiles stopped in his tracks. He took a deep breath before turning to face Lydia. The smug grin on her face wasn't in the least bit surprising. "What do you want Lydia?" the resignation he felt came through in his voice.

She frowned. "Well, first, if you're worried about me spilling your location beans to anyone back in that hell hole we grew up in, you can forget it. The only people I talk to are Allison and Danny and we never talk about that shit because they know I don't want to."

That loosened the tightness in Stiles' chest a bit and he could feel the tension ease just a little out of his shoulders.

"Second, what the hell happened to you? Where did you go? One night Allison and I were your BFFs and then two weeks later you pull a Houdini and disappear off the face of the Earth."

Nervously, Stiles looked around, his hands shoved into his pockets. "Look um, we should go someplace, talk. There's a diner nearby."

Lydia smiled at him, her whole face lighting up, just like it used to. They walked to the end of the row of seats and then she linked her arm through his.

"Lead the way."

They walked in relative silence to the diner where Stiles got them a table and ordered them both coffee. It wasn't until it was sitting in front of them and Lydia had taken her first sip that she set her gaze on him and spoke. "Spill."

"Nothing to spill. Nothing to stay in Beacon Hills for so I left. Same as you."

"Yes, but they still know I'm alive. For all intents and purposes they don't know you are. You just vanished. Poof. One day you were there and the next you weren't. The only one who would ever say anything to me was Ms. Morrell and all she said was that maybe your life wasn't in Beacon Hills anymore. Cryptic much?"

Stiles took several sips of his coffee, trying to keep his hands steady and hoping Lydia couldn't see how much they were shaking. The effort it was taking to stave off another panic attack was monumental and Stiles could already feel the sweat breaking out over his upper lip and between his shoulder blades.

"Look, after what happened with my father, with Scott, and with -" he coughed, " --other people. There was just nothing left for me there. I needed a fresh start, so I left, cutting all ties was good for me. I have a life. I have friends, not many, but a few close ones, I'm doing well in school, I have a job, things are good, and for the most part I'm happy. I have no desire to keep in touch with any of them and I won't be going back to Beacon Hills anytime soon. So if you're even thinking about trying to convince me of that, just don't."

"Pffft," she waved her hand at him. "As if I have any desire to go back to a dead end place like that. All my options are in the big city away from anything supernatural trying to kill me. Not a chance. Tell me what's going on with you?"

Stiles eyed her warily. "I'm double-majoring in behavioral biology and chemistry with a minor in bioethics."

"Hmmm, you're busy. I'm double-majoring in biological and chemical engineering myself."

"Sounds like we're both busy."

"Stiles, what are you doing here?"

His fingers flexed involuntarily, he tightened his grip on the mug. "I'm here for the conference of course, same as you."

"Except you knew there was a diner nearby and led me right to it. And I know Johns Hopkins has one of the best bioethics program in the country."

"Fuck," Stiles swore softly.

The smile Lydia gave to him was triumphant, but it softened as she reached across the table and put her hand over his. "I'm glad you're doing well."

"Why," Stiles snorted, "were you worried about me?"

Lydia shrugged. "We were Team Human, you know, for a while."

Stiles didn't know what to say. The idea that Lydia, human as he, was actually concerned about him, blew his mind.

"You know, we were pretty good friends there at the end. It'd be nice to have someone to talk to sometimes, you know, someone that understands."

Her words tumbled over in Stiles' brain, the panic attack he'd had earlier fresh in his mind and he shook his head, pulling his hand back, rubbing it. "I don't know, Lyds –"

"You still having panic attacks?"

His head nodded in acknowledgement without his consent and he wanted to slap himself in the face. "Tonight, first time in a little over a year, because I heard your voice."

"Oh shit, I'm sorry," she drew her hands back toward her mug, wrapping them around it.

"It's okay, it was just a shock is all."

"So," Lydia paused, the look on her face one of uncertainty, something Stiles was still very sure she wasn't too familiar with.

"You won't tell Allison where I am?" Stiles asked tentatively.

Immediately, Lydia shook her head. "No, never, not unless you told me I could. We Team Human members have to stick together and if you want to live anonymously, then I fully support you, but it would be nice to have a friend, you know, besides Allison. She can get a bit bossy and broody at times."

The laugh that slipped out of Stiles was the first real laugh he'd had in a long time. Maybe it could work, Lydia was always good about keeping things from others and it would be nice to have one friend he could talk to about things, other than his therapist.

"Okay," he said and the answer surprised even himself.

Lydia smiled at him, beamed at him actually and settled back into the booth, motioning the waitress over. She proceeded to place the most complicated salad order in history. Listening to her brought a rush of feelings back, feelings of home, friends, camaraderie, feelings Stiles hadn't had in a very long time. He could feel the brushes of panic just at the edge again, but Lydia reached across the table and grabbed his hand without breaking eye contact with the waitress. For once, the panic wasn't overwhelming.

They spent almost two hours at the diner, catching up on each other's lives and not saying one word about Beacon Hills until the very end.

"You know, Allison is kind of alone now too."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, she's got this tentative truce thing with Derek. He tells her when rogues enter the territory; she gives him time to get rid of them. If he tells her he's having problems she helps, otherwise, the Argent hunting family is mostly retired. But it's made things difficult with," she cleared her throat. "Others."

"Huh," but that was all Stiles said because Allison would lead to Scott and eventually more Derek, and Stiles just couldn't go there.

"I was just saying, might be nice if she had a friend too."

Instantly Stiles drew back, hunched in on himself, he looked away and caught the waitress' eye. She came right over and he smiled. "We need the check please."

Lydia huffed out a sigh and Stiles stiffened, preparing for the worst.

"Just me then," she said softly.

"I can't Lyds, I just, I can't."

The waitress returned with the check and Stiles paid for both of them. They slid out of the booth and walked to the door. Lydia stretched up and stood on her tiptoes, kissing his cheek and pressing a slip of paper into his hand.

"Don't be a stranger, okay?"

She swiped her thumb over the lipstick print she left on his cheek and with a wave, disappeared into the crowd outside.

The weight that had been resting on his shoulders since he'd first heard her voice lifted, and Stiles took a deep breath. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he headed back toward his room.

Derek stood stiffly in front of the mirror, untying and retying his tie for what had to have been the fifth time already.

"You're not going on the stand today, you do know that right? They're just going to do opening arguments."

"Shut up, Peter."

Peter rolled his eyes and walked up behind Derek and put his arms around his neck. Derek's eyes flashed red and he growled. Peter rolled his eyes again. "I'm just trying to fix your tie, now hold still."

His eyes trained on Peter in the mirror, Derek watched as Peter's fingers nimbly knotted his tie perfectly.

"Thanks," he said gruffly.

"Anytime."

Derek stared at their reflection in the mirror before breaking eye contact with a huff, grabbing his keys and wallet, and then heading for the door. "Don't get into any trouble while I'm gone, and for God's sake stay away from Isaac."

Peter was always harassing Isaac and it infuriated Derek, it was part of why Isaac spent so much time over at Scott's, part of why he'd practically moved in with Scott after Stiles...  "Nope," Derek said to himself, his hands tightening on the steering wheel. "Not going there."

He turned the radio on, flicked it to some pop station in the hopes that the horrible music would be enough to distract him from his own mind. It was moderately successful. He pulled into a parking spot at the courthouse and shut the car off. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, before getting out and heading inside.

Peter was right. All they did was opening arguments, but the prosecution had mentioned something about security tape footage and Derek was suddenly nervous about what exactly that footage might show. His memory of that day was admittedly a bit hazy, shock would do that to anyone, so it was anyone's guess what was on that footage.

His turn as a witness would most likely be sooner rather than later. The prosecution had what they called an open and shut case with witnesses and the footage, they had no doubt the jury would be finding the assailant guilty.

Derek had struggled to keep his wolf in check the entire time in the courtroom. He was going to have to start getting up early and running to exhaust his wolf on the mornings he wanted to be in the courtroom. He owed that much to the Sheriff. To Stiles.

_"But Stiles isn't here."_

A growl slipped out as Derek could hear Peter's voice mocking him in his head. Stiles. It was quite clear that Stiles didn't want to be found. And Peter had harangued him one too many times about the resources Derek had used to try to find him. All the words in the world wouldn't prevent Derek from wanting to find him, explain to him, and beg his forgiveness. Forgiveness Derek didn't think he deserved, which was a large part in why Derek had finally given up and stopped looking.

When he arrived back at the house, he'd barely put the car in park before he was stripping out of his clothes, shifting, and taking off in a run. When he ran, he didn't think; it was the only time he could find any peace. He ran for hours, just gave into the wolf’s needs until he was so tired it was all he could do to drag himself back to the house.

It went on like that for days until one night Peter was waiting for him when he got there. He was standing on the porch, a frown on his face and his arms crossed over his chest.

"You can't keep doing this to yourself."

"Don't know what you're talking about."

Peter scoffs. "Beating yourself up."

Derek just scowled at him.

"There was nothing you could have done. Going to the trial, sitting there every single day, reliving and rethinking every second, second-guessing yourself? You know the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and hoping for a different outcome."

"You're one to talk," Derek growled.

Shoulders lifted in a shrug, Peter looked at him. "I lost everyone I loved in a fire, what's your excuse?"

"Fuck you."

Bitter laughter floated into the air. "Ahh, and that's the problem isn't it, my dear nephew?  You lost your one chance at that when you let his father bleed out in your arms."

Rage made Derek's eyes bleed red and his teeth elongate. He could feel it surging through him, the desire to make Peter pay for everything. But he held back, knew Peter was just trying to bait him. "What do you want? Don’t you have anything better to do then to harass me?"

"Look, I'm just saying, you're not doing yourself any good sitting in that courtroom day in and day out agonizing over something that was over and done with two years ago. This isn't fantasy Derek, you don't get do overs. If anyone knows that, it's me."

"I'm not looking for a do-over!"

"Really? So you can stand there and tell me you're not sitting there, every day, rethinking every single second of that standoff, thinking about any little thing you could have done differently that might have saved Stilinski's life? Not thinking about turning him? Whatever the kid may have said about that? At least his Dad would have been alive. Would have given you a chance that one day the kid would forgive you, maybe more. You're not second-guessing each step as they replay it for you in painfully excruciating detail in court? Wondering what small thing you could have changed that would have made things turn out differently? Because if you can, I want to know how you do it. It's been ten years for me and I still replay it. All the time."

Derek swallowed hard, the pain of losing his family washing over him, drowning him until he couldn't tell if it was his or Peter's.

"Huh, that's what I thought. Sorry Derek, but you're talking to the king of self-flagellation, the emperor of second-guessing and I can tell you exactly where that path leads and I don't think it's one you want to go down."

"What makes you think you've got the corner on the market?"

Peter rolled his eyes. "I spent six years in a coma planning my revenge on the hunters that killed my family and then I carried it out." His voice hitched. "I even went so far as to kill my own niece and go after my nephew." He met Derek's gaze again. "Believe me, you don't want to go down that path, Derek. You deserve better than that."

"Do I?"

Growling, Peter went for Derek, managing to get a hand around his throat and pin him to the wall, yellow eyes blazing. "Stop feeling sorry for yourself. Do you think they would want that? Do you think he would want that?"

Derek's eyes flashed red but Peter didn't let go. " _He_ hates me, so yeah, he probably would want that."

He shot a glance at the burnt out shell surrounding them, the monument to his dead family. "And them?" Derek asked softly. "What would they think?

Peter let him go. "They wouldn't hate you or want you to wallow either. They'd want you to be happy. I do. Cora does. Which is why I’m not going to stand around and watch you do this to yourself. Go to the trial, stay until it finishes but once it's done, it's done. No more. Even if it means we have to leave Beacon Hills, find new territory, a fresh start, away from…"

His voice trailed off but he didn't need to say the words for Derek to know what he meant.

_Away from all the bad memories._

Peter left after that and Derek mulled over Peter's words. Cora. He hadn't heard from her in a while. They'd left Beacon Hills together after the alpha pack but Cora had wanted to stay in New York and there were too many memories of Laura, so Derek had come back. They called, texted, e-mailed even, but that was it.

Derek stood at the window looking out over the backyard, images of his cousins, his siblings, himself, playing in that same grass years earlier. They struck a chord, those words. _New territory. Fresh start_. It niggled at the back of his mind, something his mom had said, warned him about. And it made him wonder.

Stiles flipped on his laptop and signed into Skype. Different account from before, he'd canceled his previous one. It wasn't long before he heard the familiar sound and his lips curled up into a smile as the chat window opened up.

"Stiles."

"Lyds."

"So, what's new? Still being a hermit?"

"Still terrifying fashion victims?"

It had taken several weeks since running into each other at the conference before they had started with a few random texts and then progressed to a phone call here and there. Now they were Skyping semi-regularly. Lydia made sure she avoided talking about Allison, Beacon Hills, or anything to do with their past, and Stiles filled her in on the past two years.

"Tell me you haven't been wearing that ugly shirt all week."

Stiles looked down at the ratty grey t-shirt he was wearing and thought for a moment. "Nah, come on Lyds, you know these are just my lazing around clothes."

She just arched an eyebrow at him and he glared in return.

"I do know how to dress myself you know. I actually wore a non-plaid button down shirt and a pair of khaki pants to class yesterday."

"Yesterday was your project presentation. I hope you dressed for it."

Rolling his eyes and huffing out a sigh, Stiles leaned back in his chair. "How are things?"

It was always a touchy subject for them. His heart always inched up a notch or two because there was always that little pinging fear that she was going to let something slip about Beacon Hills. And he knew for a fact that the trial had started up because his lawyer had contacted him.

"You heard from your lawyer, didn't you?" she asked flatly.

At his nod, she continued. "Are they going to make you go back?"

"Nope. Got a note from my doctor that it would be detrimental for my emotional and mental well-being. They're setting up a video teleconference, a VTC, for me to do my testimony. The lawyer is doing lawyerly things and has been in contact with some lawyers here and they are putting it together. I just have to show up and answer questions."

"They're going to prep you right? You're not going into this thing blind. I mean it Stiles. I know a really good attorney and he can be there within a few hours if you need it."

Stiles couldn't help the flush of pleasure he felt that Lydia cared. It felt good to know someone cared for his well-being after so long. "I'm good Lyds. I've got a really good attorney, both here and at home. Dad's attorney," he stopped.

"Good. I'm glad to hear that. Why do they need your testimony again?"

"Because I heard the call go out over the scanner and got there at the tail end of everything. Basically, they want me for the emotional impact," Stiles said, his voice cracking at the end.

"Oh Stiles," Lydia said softly.

Stiles gave her a watery smile. "So, let's talk about something happier. Tell me about your latest conquest."

He listened as she went on for the next few minutes about the most recent guy she'd been dating. None of them was ever serious. Stiles suspected she was still holding out hope for Jackson's return someday.

"Stiles? Earth to Stiles!"

"What? Sorry, sorry, I was drifting."

"You were drifting while I was telling you about the moron I was dating. To be honest, I would have drifted too, it's why we're not dating anymore. And don't even think about talking about how you think I'm still hung up on Jackson."

"What, I wasn't, never –" Stiles sputtered.

"Please, I can read you like a book."

"Look, I just think, and trust me, I know how much I'm taking my life in my hands saying this, but you know I care about you Lyds, and I think you're holding yourself back by holding out hope for Jackson. That's all."

Lydia's eyes narrowed and Stiles cringed away from the computer screen.

"You've got a lot of room to talk."

Her words were like a bucket of cold water. He probably deserved the barb, but it still stung.

"And we're done here. Gotta run."

Stiles' mouse hovered over the end call button.

"Stiles!" Lydia called out just as he clicked the mouse.

Immediately he logged out of Skype and shut his phone off. He sat at his desk for a few moments, anger churning inside him, at her, at himself. Abruptly he stood up, knocking his chair over. He paced across the room, feeling the panic just at the edges. He ran his hands through his hair, tugging at the back of it, and helpfully, the pain brought clarity, focus. It kept the panic away for just a brief moment.

Then the images started, flooding his head. He squeezed his eyes shut, hard enough to see spots and still the images came.

_Derek ordering him to cut his arm off. Derek shoving him against a wall. Derek shoving him against a tree. Derek sniffing his neck. Derek telling him he's pack. Derek promising to protect his father. His father's bloody lifeless body. Derek covered in his father's blood. The court ordered summons. His own hands covered in blood. His father's eyes looking at him accusatorily. Derek looking at him with guilt in his eyes. Blood._

"It was the right thing to do, it was the right thing to do, it was the right thing to do," he muttered to himself, rocking back and forth on the floor of his room. He had his head in his hands, his eyes closed, and his back to the wall.

"Please make it stop," he whispered. "Please make it stop."

But they didn't, they never did, he just had to wait them out.

When the images finally stopped, Stiles was physically exhausted and emotionally drained. He stripped off the shirt that was sour with dried sweat and kicked off his jeans before crawling into bed without even setting his alarm. If he was lucky he might be able to sleep without having any dreams, but he usually wasn't that lucky.

He was groggy and felt hungover when he woke up the next morning. Dragging himself to the shower, he was grateful there wasn't anyone else around. He showered in peace, tossed his clothes in his laundry bag and dug out some clean ones from a drawer. Once he was dressed, he filled his backpack, grabbed his wallet and went off in search of coffee. He left his phone behind.

Classes dragged. It felt like he was in his organic chemistry class for eons. Stiles honestly thought the class was never going to end and it was one he actually enjoyed. By the time he trudged his tired body back to his room, it was already twilight. He was barely paying attention as he plodded down the hallway toward his room, so when he stopped in front of his door he almost tripped over them.

Flowers. In front of his door. He clenched his free hand and bit his lip before reaching out a trembling hand to look at the card. Nobody ever sent him flowers. Who the fuck would be sending him flowers?

Fingers shaking, he opened the envelope and the breath he didn't even realize he'd been holding whooshed out of his chest in relief.

_Call me, Dumbass._

Lydia. The flowers were her way of apologizing. Breathing out another sigh of relief, he unlocked his door, picked up the flowers, and walked into his room. He set them on his desk and then unpacked his bag. It wasn't until he was fully settled in front of his Macbook, organic chem book open on the desk beside it, notebook in his lap and a piece of cold pizza in his hand that he really looked at the flowers.

Daisies. One of his favorites. He'd once told Lydia they reminded him of smiley faces and just looking at them made him happy. He wasn't surprised she remembered, just surprised she'd done it. She must have felt really bad about their Skype call last night.

He picked up his phone and thumbed it on, again, not surprised to find several messages from her. None of them were what any normal person would call an apology but Stiles knew that's what they were. He finished his pizza and then pressed her speed dial and waited for her to pick up.

"It's about time, loser."

"Bitch."

And then Lydia went into a diatribe about her major advisor who she thought was an impotent moron. Just like that, things were fine between them. Lydia wouldn't say anything further about what he was running from, hiding from, whatever, and Stiles wouldn't call her out on how she was still pining for Jackson. It's how they did things. Last night had been an anomaly. Stiles just hoped there weren't very many more.

"You sleep okay last night?"

"Nope."

"That sucks."

"Yup."

"You think about what I said about the lawyer?"

"Yeah, thanks. I mean, like I said, I'm pretty sure I've got a good one and all. The whole VTC thing was his suggestion and from what he tells me he had to fight pretty hard for it. I'm supposed to do a couple of Skypes with him two or three days before I do it for the court. But, it never hurts to have a backup, so thanks."

"Anytime. Now, let me tell you about the hottie I ran into at the coffee shop. You would have been drooling, and it would have been completely embarrassing. But he was totally your type."

Stiles laughed and listened as she described the hottie as dark, broody, and totally like Angel at the beginning of Buffy. He didn't protest about her constant haranguing that he had a type because that was a place they just didn't go.

"Anyway, it's when I see people like him that make me miss you."

"Huh. Miss me. Wait, what?" Stiles sat up in his chair, his heart starting to beat a bit faster. He could almost hear Lydia shrugging over the phone, if she'd had an old-style phone he imagined her twirling the cord around her finger right about now.

"I don't have any friends I can sit and make snarky comments about people with."

"Wait, you just said this guy was hot though?" Stiles frowned, confused.

"Yes, he was, but we would have commented about how De –" she paused, coughing before continuing. "Angel was the king of brooding and everyone else should just go home."

Her mistake made his heart clench in his chest because he knew what she was saying. They would have said something about how _he_ was the king of brooding.

"I see people that make me miss you too," he said softly.

Silence stretched out between them and what they left unsaid grew so heavy that Stiles' brain was working overtime trying to think of something to say.

"When is your VTC?"

"Not for a couple weeks I guess. I'm really not sure."

"Well, we should Skype afterwards, you know, have dinner together or something."

"That'd be good. Thanks."

"You're welcome. Okay. I have to go. Don't be a dumbass and not call me."

"Whatever," Stiles rolled his eyes.

"Ciao."

"Bye."

Stiles thumbed his phone off and stared at it for a minute before putting it back on the desk and diving into his organic Chem homework.

The courtroom was packed. It made Derek nervous and made his wolf anxious. All the smells, the emotions were overwhelming. Derek's testimony was scheduled for the next day, but they were admitting the security footage into evidence today. It would be the first time Derek got a look at it, along with the entire rest of the gallery. Scott was in attendance, Derek could smell him. Couldn't see him because Derek had slipped in at the back right before they'd shut the doors. It's what he did most days. Except most days weren't standing room only.

His eyes roamed over the crowd until he spotted Scott sitting with Isaac. They'd been close for quite a while, ever since the Alpha pack and Erica. The door opened behind him and Derek stiffened. She quietly moved to sit next to him and when he looked at her, Allison offered him a weak smile.

"Thought you could use some support today."

The gesture and the thought process he knew was behind it made him swallow hard. She knew Scott would be with Isaac and without Scott, he would be alone, re-watching the robbery and subsequent murder of the Sheriff by himself.  It made his heart do weird things in his chest, that despite everything she still cared enough and knew enough to be here. For him. He nodded tersely at her. "Thanks."

"No problem."

They didn't talk anymore because the Bailiff asked everyone to rise as the Judge entered the courtroom and the proceedings started for the day. The lawyers argued a bit, about admitting the footage and just as the prosecutor had assured Derek, it was admitted with very little fanfare. Once it was in, they dimmed the lights and the footage was shown so the prosecutor could question the witness he had on the stand, one of the cops that had been first on site.

Derek watched and his heart sped up as the footage progressed, enough that Scott turned around and looked at him. He took a deep breath and willed his heart back under control. He watched the footage in silence, grateful there wasn't any sound. By the time it was done, he'd calmed down considerably. The video showed exactly what he expected, the robbery, the Sheriff stepping in front of the lady and getting shot, Derek catching him and sinking with him to the floor, whispering in his ear and the Sheriff answering back.

He was just about to get up and leave when the prosecution called another witness, someone else that had been there that day. Derek sat back down, wanting to know what she had to say. She told pretty much the same story as the officer until the prosecutor asked his final question.

"Did you have your phone with you that day?"

"Yes. I always have my phone with me, my mom would have a shi-a fit if I didn't and she couldn't get ahold of me."

Derek's heart started to pound again and he swallowed hard when he saw Scott shift in his seat. The rush of blood in his ears drowned out the rest of the questioning until once again the lights were dimmed and footage was shown on the screen.

"Everybody down!"

And Derek's hand grew claws. This one had audio. He closed his eyes. He didn't need to see it to hear it. Allison grabbed his arm, holding on, supporting him in her own quiet way. Listening intently, he replayed the images from inside the store in his head. The gun went off, he flinched and his eyes snapped open. His voice. Whispering to the Sheriff. Anxiously he looked around but nobody else seemed to be reacting, which meant only he could hear it. It was his imagination, his own mind playing tricks on him, making him relive his failure over and over again.

When the footage stopped, the courtroom was silent. The defense had no questions for the witness and the judge called a recess. Derek fled the courtroom without even a word to Allison. He raced outside, jogging down the steps heading toward the parking lot. He only hoped he could make it home before he lost the contents of his stomach. He never even made it to the car.

"Hey!" Scott grabbed his arm and spun him around. "What did you do? Why didn't you do it? You could have saved him! Stiles would never have left! UGH you are such a fucking hypocrite! You turn Erica and Boyd and you won't turn him? Why the fuck not?"

"I don't owe you an explanation."

"Right, because you're the big bad Alpha and we should all just cower in submission to you. I've told you before and I'll tell you again," Scott got right into his face. "I'm so glad I became my own Alpha. It's your fault he died and it's your fault Stiles left. You're the reason everything here is so fucked up!"

Rage flooded through him and before Derek could reign it back in it burst forth. "You have a hell of a lot of room to talk. How long did it take you to even notice he was gone? Two weeks? A month? You had your head so far up Isaac's ass it took you almost a full month to even realize he was gone. So don't tell me it's my fault Stiles left. I was only part of the problem."

"Well, letting his Dad die? I'd say that makes you the biggest part of the problem."

Derek rolled his eyes. "Whatever. Go home, Scott."

He turned to go, pulling his keys out of his pocket.

"That's right, turn tail and run. It's what you're best at. It's what you did after Erica died, after Kali made you kill Boyd, and it's what you've been doing for the past two years. It's why you were a shit alpha then and it's why you're still a shit alpha."

Stopping in his tracks and clenching his fists, Derek heard Scott growl in disgust. He stood there, listening as Scott turned and walked away. His shoulders slumped and the urge to vomit reared its ugly head again. He swallowed convulsively until it went away before he got into the Camaro and drove off.

Peter was waiting for him at the house, of course. "What do you want?" Derek snarled. "Wanna rub it in my face what a failure I am? Should I bare my throat to you so you can rip it out and become the Alpha again?"

"Tsk tsk, Derek, temper. Ironically, I don't want any of those things. I take it court didn't go so well today?"

"It went fine."

Peter merely raised an eyebrow at him and Derek sighed in resignation. "There was a cell phone video, with audio. Or at least I think there was audio. Scott came after me afterward."

"And you let him?" Peter just shook his head. "This is why you have trouble with them. You let them get away with too much."

"Do you think you could do it any better?" Derek growled. He stripped off his shirt and tossed it in Peter's face. "I'm going for a run. Don't follow me."

His feet pounded on the ground and his heart pounded in his chest, but neither of them could drown out the sound of the voices in his head.

_"You let them get away with too much." "You're not my Alpha. You never will be." "You'll always be a shit Alpha." "You're the reason everything here is so fucked up." "Go away, Derek. I don't want you here. Not now. Not ever again. Goodbye."_

Over and over again in his head until he was driven to his knees, his hands over his ears, yelling in the forest in an attempt to hear his own roar over the cacophony in his head.

"Sounds like you need some help."

With a snarl, Derek looked up, knew his eyes were flashing red but the woman, girl really, just gave him an impish smile and shook her head.

"You don't scare me so you can show me your Alpha reds as much as you want. I know what you need. I know what you want, what you desire most."

Something tickled the back of his mind, warnings from his mother, something he thought he should know, should be wary of but she smiled, dimples appeared in her cheeks and the radiant look of happiness on her face pushed it all away. She bent down and gently took hold of his chin.

"A fresh start, yes?"

He looked at her in confusion. "What?"

"That's what you want most. A do-over, a way to start new, with a clean slate."

Derek shook his head. "That's not possible."

"Oh, but it is. You just have to know who to ask."

"And I suppose you're the one to ask," he said, quirking an eyebrow.

"Maybe," she winked at him. "If you ask nicely."

"And why would I do that?"

"Because I can give it to you, no strings attached. You just have to want it bad enough."

He snorted. "Want it bad enough. Where the hell were you ten years ago when a do-over would have actually solved all my problems?"

She shrugged. "Maybe it wasn't needed then. Maybe you weren’t desperate enough, I don't know. I only come when the need is greatest."

Derek rolled his eyes. "I'd say getting my entire family killed in a fire was pretty damn fucking needy. Now I'm just –" his voice trailed off.

"Just what? Needy?"

"No," he replied, unable to meet her eyes.

"Lie. But whatever, your need is what summoned me, if you don't want what I have to offer I'll just find someone else who does."

She turned to go, walking off into the trees. Derek watched her leave, his brain and his heart battling it out inside him over letting her go or calling her back. When she'd all but disappeared, he called out. "Wait!"

"Yes?"

"What," he took a deep breath, clenching his fists at his sides. "What are you offering?"

"I told you, a fresh start, a clean slate."

"So none of this will have happened?"

She shook her head, sadness in her eyes. "I can't change what's happened. All I can do is give you a fresh start."

"How?"

"Trade secret. Do you want it?"

"What do you mean a fresh start?"

She huffed out a sigh. "What do you think I mean? A new life, a new you, a new everything."

Her offer was tantalizing and Derek was more than tempted to accept it. "What about –"

"Your life here?"

He nodded.

"It's not something you need to worry about, especially if you take my offer."

"Is this a limited time thing?"

"Yup."

"How long do I have?"

She looked up at the sky, her dark hair blowing a bit in the breeze, her violet eyes shimmering. "Not long."

He frowned, staring at the ground, the voices in his head starting to get loud again. Closing his eyes in frustration, he took another deep breath. "Yes."

"Done."

Norman Eugene opened his eyes and shut them immediately. "Fuck! What the hell did I do last night?"

His head was pounding and his mouth tasted like ass. Something was making a noise that was going to split his head open if he didn't find it and stop it. Eyes still closed, he swatted at his bedside table, swearing when he only managed to knock his phone onto the floor where it continued to beep at him. With a sigh, he sat up, swiping a hand over his face before bending over to pick up his phone and shut it off.

Silence.

Norman took a deep breath and scrunched up his nose. Something was off. This place didn't smell right. His head throbbing with pain, he finally opened his eyes and looked around. It certainly wasn't much to look at. Just a single bed, clothes on the floor, bathroom with the door open and a semi-wet towel still on the floor from the night before.

Swallowing hard, he stood up and walked out into the living area. Nothing out of place. There was a book laid out haphazardly on the arm of the couch, the TV and DVD player were both off, a few DVDs out of their cases scattered on top. He glanced toward the kitchen and heard the coffee machine start. There was absolutely nothing out of place or out of the ordinary. It was just his apartment, but it smelled wrong. And how the fuck did he know that?

Letting out a frustrated sigh, Norman made his way to the bathroom, not even bothering to turn on the light. The window on the side combined with the light in the bedroom was enough as he fumbled in the medicine cabinet for some painkillers, and he scooped some water up into his hand to swallow them down.

He leaned into the mirror and grimaced. Dark circles under his eyes and a five 'o' clock shadow at six in the morning were never a good thing. He had thirty minutes to get ready before he needed to eat breakfast and then run out the door. Work started at seven and although he could be late, he liked being punctual, so he stepped into the shower before the water was even warm.

Norman showered quickly and grabbed his glasses before heading back into his bedroom to dress. He grabbed his blue plaid shorts and a white polo shirt, before sliding his feet into a pair of boat shoes. In the kitchen, he slid a couple of Pop-tarts into the toaster and poured himself a glass of milk.

Fifteen minutes later, he was out the door, backpack over his shoulder and hopping onto his bike for the twenty-minute ride into work. He always stuck to the bike paths because South Florida drivers were crazy. Especially now that the snowbirds were back. Some of them weren't particularly careful about where they were going.

He certainly didn't begrudge the snowbirds, it was how he made his living, but there was no denying that some of them shouldn't be driving. He'd forgotten to bring the schedule home last night so he had no idea what was on tap for this morning. Although he rarely scheduled something for first thing, there was always a chance.

"Hey Norm!"

Norman lifted his hand in a wave as Jack the security guard called out to him.

"Have a good day, Jack!"

He pedaled on through until he reached the clubhouse, bringing his bike to a halt and locking it to the bike rack sitting outside. Smiling, he waved to Doris and Janice who were heading to the pool for the early morning session of water aerobics.

"Good morning Norman," they both smiled at him.

He felt his cheeks heat up as he returned their greetings, happy to be letting himself into the office. The attention the older women gave him often made him uncomfortable but it came with the territory. He took a quick glance at himself in the mirror that one of the previous activity directors had installed in the hallway.

He didn't think he was bad looking. Dark hair that probably could have used another combing before he left, a day's worth of beard growth, green eyes that sometimes defied logic and looked brown or even blue, muscular arms and chest, tight waist and ass, and a flush to his cheeks that Norm knew spread halfway down his chest. Rolling his eyes at himself, he moved on past the mirror into his office and grabbed his clipboard.

"Hey Norm!"

Norman looked up and smiled at the young blonde woman standing in the doorway. "Good morning Amy, here for the Yoga class?"

"Yup. Is this the day you're going to join us?"

A chuckle slipped out and he ducked his head. "Pretty sure I'm not flexible enough for your class."

_"Awww, come on Der."_

"What did you say?" he asked, his head whipping up, eyes focused on Amy.

"Um, I said, 'awww, come on, Norm?' Are you okay?" She took a step forward and Norman could see the concern in her eyes.

He shook his head. "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. Must have been something I ate last night. Woke up with what felt like a hell of a hangover and I don't really drink. I know I didn't drink last night. Might have had one beer, but yeah. Not one hundred percent today. Sorry Amy."

"No problem. I better get in there and get set up for class. Maybe we can make a coffee run later?"

Her voice was hopeful and Norman had to smile. "Sure, we can do that."

Her grin lit up her face as she waved and took off down the hallway. Norman's smile dropped from his face as soon as she was gone and he slumped down into his chair. What the hell had he heard? And there it was again, that smell that made him want to wrinkle his nose and get the hell out of here. It was as if he didn't belong. His office didn't smell right, apartment didn't smell right, and Amy, she didn't smell right.

Oh, he could smell the arousal on her, no doubt about that, but other than that she didn't smell familiar at all… which was strange. No, wait, being able to smell arousal was strange. What the hell was that about? Norman let his head fall to the desk. Maybe he was going crazy. How could places smell wrong? And how the fuck could he smell that Amy was aroused? And why was the smell of arousal the only familiar scent he could pick out?"

Norman got up and started pacing. The wrongness of everything made something in him restless, made him feel like he needed to let loose, let the beast in him out to run.

"You okay son?"

Startled, Norman looked over at the doorway and smiled. "Hank, yeah, I'm just, I think I might be coming down with something. Didn't sleep well last night and everything smells off today."

Hank, a balding man probably in his mid-seventies, frowned. "Maybe you should go see a doctor? We can’t have our favorite activities director coming down with something. The girls will be beside themselves, of course then they'll mother hen you to death and you'll have casseroles coming out your ears."

Norman snorted. Hank was right. He still had casseroles in his freezer from the last time something happened. His brow knit up into a frown though because he couldn't remember what the last thing was. There wasn't time to dwell on it now though because he had activities to run and Hank was looking increasingly worried at his lack of response. He chuffed out a laugh. "They're all good casseroles though."

Hank joined in the laughter, nudging Norm with his elbow conspiratorially. "Aren't they though? Especially Lynda's. You know she was a chef at a restaurant? That's why hers are so good."

"I didn't know that!" Norman exclaimed following Hank out of the office and into the common area.

"Yup. Back when women weren't chefs. She blazed a trail and was the head chef in some hoity-toity restaurant in Detroit. It's not New York or Chicago but that's still pretty damn impressive."

"Good for her. Now I'm almost wishing there was something wrong so I could get another one of her dishes."

A pleased guffaw burst out of Hank and he clapped a hand on Norman's shoulder. "I'll just put a bug in her ear later today when I see her at the pool."

"You do that," Norman smiled as Hank squeezed his shoulder and headed out the door.

 The rest of the day passed smoothly and Hank did indeed put a bug in Lynda's ear because a piping hot pasta casserole showed up at his office right before he was planning on leaving. It was already boxed up and ready to strap onto the back of his bike. He penned a quick thank you and stuck it in her mailbox before leaving.

The niggling sensation that he was missing something and the alien scents all around him stayed with him all day and followed him home. He was halfway through the casserole when it hit him that the apartment he was living in didn't smell like him. It should smell like him, like home.

_Like Pack._

Norman pushed back from the table and looked around, there was nobody there so it was just his own voice in his head but where had that thought come from. What the hell was a Pack? How did he know the scent of it like the back of his hand? And why did just the thought of it set up a disquieting howl inside his head and make his heart ache with loneliness?

He heard wood cracking and was shocked to see the table actually splitting under his grip. Norman held his hands up and stared in shock at the claws he'd just grown out of his goddamn fingers! Abruptly he stood up, knocking over the chair, and the sound that left his mouth could only be called a growl.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," he murmured. He slid down to the floor and clenched and unclenched his hand staring at what he thought was impossible. Fucking actual claws were growing out of his fingers!

"What the hell is going on?" he whispered. "What the fuck am I?"

But his questions went unanswered in the fading light of his kitchen.

Stiles scowled at his phone before putting it back up to his ear to listen. They were upping the time of his VTC testimony. He clicked off his voice mail and called his lawyer back. "Tom, what the hell is going on?" Stiles jiggled his leg under his desk, fighting the urge to chew his thumb.

"Sorry Stiles. I know this is already super stressful for you but it's unavoidable. One of the prosecution's witnesses was a no-show so he fast-tracked everything else."

"One of the witnesses?" Stiles heart rate ratcheted up. "Is this gonna be bad for the case?"

"No Stiles, it's an open and shut case. He moved right on to the woman your dad saved. It's really no big deal, it just means your VTC is going to happen in two days instead of next week. So we need to set up a Skype time to go over everything and then I need to set up one with the DA tomorrow night for final prep."

"Yeah, okay. I have, um, I have, shit, I need to look at my schedule, I know I have a class late Thursday afternoon, but I can't remember what the fuck it is. Shit!"

"Stiles, calm down. Take a deep breath. I already have your class schedule and so does the DA. We'll make sure we schedule your VTC around your evening class. You won't have to worry. Let's plan for six tonight, just the two of us and I'll send you a text confirming the time for tomorrow night."

"Okay, yeah, okay, that should work." Now Stiles really was chewing his thumb because his testimony was in two days and he wasn't anywhere near emotionally ready.

"You going to be okay?"

"Yup. I'll talk to you tonight."

Stiles hung up without even waiting for a response. He closed his eyes, taking deep breaths, trying to stay calm, trying to stave off the panic. Opening his eyes, he thumbed through his contacts, hovered for a moment over Lydia before switching his phone off, grabbing his books and running out of his room. Avoiding was always a good way of dealing with things so he was gonna stick with that for a while.

He powered his way through classes, went to Starbucks for lunch and nabbed a frothy, double espresso, frappuccino thingie. The sugar and the caffeine weren't going to help his anxiety any, but he was drinking his feelings so it didn't really matter anyway. He'd stave off his panic attack, and get all his work done because he sure as hell wouldn't be sleeping. When his testimony was done, he'd come down and freak out then.

He wrote his paper for his ethics class that afternoon, not even turning his phone on until it was time for his Skype with Tom. Then he booted Skype up at six and waited for Tom to come on. His eyes flicked over nervously at the menu hoping that Lydia wouldn't pop on and try to talk to him because he just couldn't, not now.

The Skype video chat started to ring and Stiles clicked on it, answering the call from Tom.

"Stiles? Are you sure you're up for this? You look pretty strung out."

"I might have had a Frappuccino, but yeah, I'm good. I'll be better when this whole thing is over. We knew this was gonna suck, so let's just get it over with."

"Okay, this won't take long. You're basically corroborating some of the officer statements and also adding a bit of emotional impact. Your main part will come during the sentencing portion of the trial when the DA will introduce your victim impact statement."

Stiles bristled at the term victim but he let it go, he knew it was just a name and it didn't imply that he was a victim but it still pissed him the hell off. "Okay, come on, let's do it. Gimme the questions."

Tom quickly went through the questions and Stiles tried really hard not to think about the images that were just at the edge of his mind threatening to overwhelm him. When they were finished, Stiles was drained and barely keeping the panic at bay.

"I've scheduled your Skype with the DA tomorrow night at eight. That should work out just fine with your classes."

"How long do you think it'll take?" Stiles asked, hating how small his voice sounded.

"He'll probably take a lot longer than we did tonight, so I don't know, maybe an hour?"

"Okay. Um, thanks Tom, for doing this, for setting this up, for not making me come back."

"You're welcome Stiles. Your father was a good friend of mine. You know if there's anything you ever need, all you have to do is ask."

"Thanks."

They said goodbye and Stiles signed out before anyone, _Lydia_ , could notice he was on. He popped some additional Adderall, he knew he wasn't supposed to, especially with all the sugar and caffeine he'd had earlier, but he needed to not panic and he needed to focus on his English Lit paper that wasn't going to write itself.

The next day came way faster than Stiles wanted it to and he was a bundle of nerves the entire day. So much so in fact, that one of his professors, his organic chem prof and advisor, told him to go home and just take the next two days off. He might have mentioned to him during one of their advising sessions that he was testifying so he probably just assumed, correctly, that explained why he was so keyed up.

By the time six rolled around, his head was hurting and his stomach was rolling from lack of food and caffeine. Stiles wasn't sure he would have been able to keep anything down. He just wanted to get through this Skype and the VTC tomorrow and then he was barricading himself in his room with WoW, Buffy, maybe some Star Trek, and a whole arsenal of takeout menus. He wouldn't surface until Monday.

Underneath all that, he was angry, so very angry. He hadn't felt this much anger since he'd left Beacon Hills. Angry at his dad for playing the hero, anger at Derek for not saving him, anger at the robber for being a fucking idiot and ruining his life, and anger at himself that he couldn't just let all this shit go and get on with his life. That's what his testimony tomorrow symbolized to him. An end to all of this so he just wanted to get it the fuck over.

He was still waffling between anger and panic when the DA's Skype call came in.

"Hi. Um, I'm Stiles."

"Mr. Stilinski. I appreciate you agreeing to do this. I can only imagine how difficult this is for you. I won't take up much of your time, I just want to go over the questions I'm going to ask and prep you for what the defense might ask as well."

"Wait, the defense is going to ask me questions?" Something about that infuriated Stiles. That bastard didn't deserve shit and he certainly didn't deserve to be able to question Stiles.

"Sorry about that, but yes. I can't imagine they'll ask you much, I've already presented my case, it's pretty clear that it's open and shut. The defendant was caught on tape committing felony murder, there's no way around that. Your testimony will focus on what you heard on the police scanner and how long it took you to arrive at the scene and just briefly touch on your father. You've already recorded your victim impact statement for the sentencing portion of the trial, so once this is finished you're finished. Shall we get started?"

The questions went by in a blur, Stiles answered them succinctly and methodically, even the questions the DA proposed would come from the defense. Those made him particularly angry and Stiles had to clench his fist and bite his tongue to hold his temper in check. By the time they finished he was drained and ready to call it a night.

"Okay, Mr. Stilinski. We're done. Your scheduled time for the VTC is at six tomorrow night. I believe the local DA wants you there at five just to get everything set up. Is that good for you?"

"Yeah, that's fine. My last class on Fridays ends at noon. I'll be there ready to go."

"Well, unless there's anything else, I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yeah, fine. Okay then. Bye."

The screen went dark and Stiles leaned back in his chair, rubbing the back of his neck. It was barely seven and he was exhausted. He didn't even bother changing out of his clothes; he just collapsed on his bed and went to sleep.

Morning of course, came all too soon, and if Stiles had been restless the day before, he was absolutely useless today. Even his BioEthics prof noticed and that man was oblivious to just about everything. All that meant was that he gave Stiles one of his patented 'I can't believe you're wasting my time' looks over the top of his glasses and Stiles just rolled his eyes and slumped in his seat.

The clock moved too fast and too slow all at the same time. The day seemed to drag on endlessly but before he knew it, Stiles was in his Jeep on the way to the city's DA office. His palms were wet and it made his steering wheel slippery, but he just clenched his jaw and drove a bit slower. Parking was a bitch, but he finally found a spot and walked into the building, his backpack slung over his shoulder.

He'd run home to change and was wearing the three-piece suit Lydia had forced him to buy by bullying him over Skype, text and FaceTime. He was glad that she did, because even Stiles thought he looked intimidating. The DA seemed pleased, because he smiled when Stiles set his bag down and shrugged off his jacket.

"You look very nice, Stiles. Why don't you follow me and I'll show you the setup. We can let them know out in California that we're ready whenever they are."

Stiles followed him into some back conference room. There was a stenographer present, a few other people Stiles couldn't really identify and a long table with a computer set up at one end and a movie screen at the far end of the room.

Stiles was seated in front of the computer and there was a webcam pointed at him. They did a trial run, turned the camera on, and Stiles saw his face show up on part of the screen, the other side was blank.

"The side that's blank will be the feed from the courtroom so we can see what's going on in California and obviously hear their questions to you. It looks like everything is working, so we'll shut it down for now. Is there anything we can get you? Coffee? Water? Tea?"

"No, no, I'm good." Stiles wiped his hands on his pants, forgetting they were suit pants and not jeans. "Just want to get this over with."

The DA walked over and squeezed his shoulder. "You're going to do just fine."

Stiles smiled weakly at him and then the DA walked away to talk to one of his people. Stiles took the opportunity to look around the room again. He was unsure why they had a stenographer present, there would be one in California, but maybe it was just standard for any VTC testimony. That had to be it, so the home people had a record of what transpired in case there was some sort of question about it.

He watched as people continued to talk and then the California side of the screen sparked to life. One of the DA's people came over and turned the webcam on. Once it was up, there was some talking back and forth making sure all the settings were correct. Several minutes went by and then everything went silent.

The Baliff on the screen asked everyone to rise and Stiles stood and watched as the judge walked up and sat down behind the bench. He called the court to order, did a few housekeeping things and then the DA in California called Stiles as a witness.

He knew the drill; he stood up, held his hand up, repeated the oath and then sat down. He folded his hands in front of him to keep himself from drumming them on the table as he waited for the first question. Once it came, he relaxed; it was just as they'd rehearsed the previous night. He could do this.

His testimony was straightforward, he answered all of the questions in a factual matter and even found himself, or at least a small part of himself, wishing he could see who was in the courtroom. A sick part of him hoped Derek was there, suffering through the whole trial. He knew Scott wouldn't be there, he probably didn't even know the trial was happening, too wrapped up in Isaac to notice. Other than that momentary detour into the darker part of his brain, the questions went smoothly.

At least they did until the defense started questioning him. Stiles found himself angry from the very second the defense attorney said he had questions. His answers were short and clipped. The DA moved so that he was standing right behind Stiles. He wasn't touching him but knowing he was that close was comforting at least, but it didn't distill his anger any. The defense must have been warned by the judge because the questions weren't as hard, intrusive, or accusatory as Stiles expected. He was just angry he had to answer them in the first place.

However, it ended after about fifteen minutes and the judge asked the prosecutor if he wanted to redirect. Stiles couldn't resist bringing his hand up and chewing at the thumbnail because this was where it was going to get hard.

"Mr. Stilinski, how has the loss of your father affected your life?"

Rage blossomed in his chest and he let it all out. A bitter laugh escaped. "How has his death affected me? Hmm, well it made me an orphan at eighteen and basically left me with nothing. I lost my dad, my home, my friends, everything. There was nothing left for me in Beacon Hills so I left and I will _never_ return. I've had to see a therapist regularly for the last two years and ever since this damn trial started up, my panic attacks have returned. So losing my dad? I'd say it ruined my life. That good enough for you?"

"Yes, thank you Mr. Stilinski. Again, we are all sorry for your loss."

He turned back to the judge and said he was finished with the witness. The judge turned his attention to Stiles and excused him and the screen went dark.

"Are we done here?"

"Yes, we just need you to sign a few things and then you're free to leave."

Stiles was out the door within fifteen minutes and on his way back to his dorm room. He jumped into the shower, eager to wash away the dirty feeling he had. But even the hottest water couldn't scrub it away. Frustrated, Stiles threw on some sweat pants and an old police academy t-shirt, turned on Netflix to watch Buffy and ordered an insane amount of takeout.

He didn't look at the messages on his phone until he'd made it through a third of the takeout and three episodes of Buffy. Only then did he scroll through his texts. There were three from Jessica, his lab partner in organic chemistry, he answered hers quickly, told her he was fine, said they could get together after class on Monday and go over some stuff. Another four were from his friend Jase asking if okay and if he was going to one of the multiple parties on campus that weekend. The final ten were from Lydia.

His finger over the delete button, he debated about just deleting them. In the end, he read all of them, even chuckled at a few, but threw his phone to the side when he finished. He wasn't up to answering her just yet. Maybe he would after a few more hours of Buffy and some more takeout.

Lydia's texts went unanswered until Monday, when he shot off a quick text to her.

_Lyds, testimony is over, it went fine. Now I can move on with life. Goodbye. S._

With that, he shut his phone off, slid it into his pocket and headed off to his organic chemistry class.  

Almost a week had gone by since Norman's horrible as hell non-alcohol induced hangover and things hadn't gotten much better. Things weren't bad, but they just weren't exactly right either. Norman couldn't put his finger on it. Things still didn't smell like he thought they should and he still had no fucking idea why he sprouted claws, grew hair, and could hear and smell things normal people couldn't. He also didn’t understand why his eyes turned red at the most inopportune times.

It was only when he felt himself growing angry that things got weird. It made him wonder if he'd been zapped by some type of radiation like The Incredible Hulk. He didn't seem to have any problems at his job, he was happy there, albeit bored as hell.

As he biked to work that morning, Norman couldn't imagine what made him think he could be the activities director at a retirement community for the rest of his life. It made him crazy just thinking about it. Sure, he loved the people, but holy crap was he bored. It was the same thing day after day after day. Same old programs, same old people complaining about them and same old women flirting with him. Hell, even some of those old men flirted with him. That thought made him smile.

He pulled through the gate, waved at Jack and biked over to the activity building. He locked his bike, grabbed the mail out of his mail slot and sat down behind his desk. The window in his office was open and a breeze must have picked up because the curtains shifted and the air in the room changed. Instantly Norman was on alert.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Still the same unfamiliar smells, but there, underneath the palm trees, the suntan oil, the Ben Gay, was a hint of lemongrass. _Lemongrass._ How did he know what that was and why did it seem so familiar? Norman got up and looked outside. He could see Vivian Chang talking to Lynda, he didn't even have to strain to hear them discussing cooking. Vivian was telling Lynda she'd tried a new Thai recipe and had used fresh lemongrass in it.

"Well, that explains that," Norman said to himself, but a voice in his head told him it really didn't.

It wasn't the first time he'd smelled something in the last two weeks that seemed familiar but couldn't place it. Three days ago, it was sage. So whatever it was, he needed to discover its source. He knew it smelled like lemongrass and sage, at least that was a start.

"Hey, Norm, you okay?"

Norman was startled out of his thoughts when Hank walked into his office. He let an easy grin slide onto his face even though it felt way out of place. "Just thinking Hank, just thinking. Is there something I can do for you?"

"Yup. Wanted to talk to you about the BBQ scheduled for next Friday night."

Norman focused his attention on Hank, listened as he outlined a few changes he and some of the others were talking about for the setup of the BBQ. But in the back of his mind he was thinking about which store might have fresh lemongrass and how it would smell mixed with sage.

When Hank left, Norman wandered out by the pool, smiled at the ladies doing water aerobics and tried to avoid Amy. She had spotted him and looked like she was making a beeline for him before her yoga class started. Something about her made him uncomfortable so he tried to avoid her as much as possible. She was friendly, a bit too friendly and when she smiled at him, it kind of reminded him of a shark. Made his insides squirm when she did it, so he always tried to be somewhere else when she was around.

He wouldn't be able to stay here much longer. It was too unfamiliar and too foreign. He needed to find home and this obviously wasn't it. Wandering back into his office, Norman sat back down at his desk and pulled his phone out. He flicked through his contacts and called his boss. It was time to move on.

"Hey Bob."

"Hey Norm, how's it going? How's my favorite activities director?"

The comment made Norman's heart clench in his chest. The aching feeling of letting someone down was too familiar and Norman didn't even want to examine why. So he bit the bullet and stumbled forward.

"Bob, I need to move on. I love it here, I'm going to miss the people, but this isn't what I’m looking for, this isn't where I'm supposed to be for the rest of my life."

"I'm sorry to hear that Norm. I've been kinda expecting this for a while. Always knew you were too good for us. I'll start making some calls and doing some interviews. Can you give me two weeks? How far out is the activities' schedule?"

"The schedule is complete and confirmed through May. And yes, I can give you two weeks, no problem."

"Where you headed?"

"North." The word just came out, Norman wasn't sure from where, but it felt right. "Gonna go up the East Coast, see if I can find what I'm looking for."

"Whatever it is, I hope you find it."

"Me too."

Norman hung up the phone and picked up his coffee mug. The coffee was cold, so he left his office and went into the kitchen to dump it out and get a new cup when Amy walked right into him.

"Damn it!" he cried out as the mug tilted and spilled coffee all down his front.

"Oh Norman, I'm so sorry. Here, get that shirt off, lemme see if I can get the worst of it out with some cold water."

Setting the mug down on the counter, Norman stripped his shirt off and handed it to her. There was a whistle from the doorway and feeling his face flush, Norm turned to see Lynda and Vivian both standing there.

"Looking good Norman," Lynda winked at him.

"Love your tattoo young man," Vivian gave him her own wink before the two of them waved and moved on.

He'd found the tattoo the night of the hangover as well. Turned around and caught a glimpse of it in the mirror. He'd googled the image and found out it was called a triskelion, but he had no idea where or even when he'd gotten it.

"They're right, it is a nice tattoo, looks tribal." Amy squeezed out his shirt and frowned at it as she held it up. "Hmm, let me take this home with me tonight, I'll put a little bit of bleach on it and it should be right as rain. Do you have a spare shirt in your office?"

"Yes, thanks."

"No need to thank me. I'm sorry I made you spill your coffee. Better go get a shirt on before you give the entire water aerobics class a heart attack."

She grinned at him and Norman had to force himself not to shiver. Instead, he grinned back at her weakly before heading back to his office to find a clean shirt.

That night he looked around his apartment, trying to plan just what he was going to do. He'd stopped at a bookstore on the way home and bought a map. He’d spread it out on the kitchen table, and there were three places marked on the map. His current location, Northern California, and Maryland. He wasn't sure why he'd marked the last two, it was just instinct. When he'd looked at the map, his eyes had gone immediately to Northern California and he could almost smell the pine trees, so he made a pen mark there, resolving to think about it more later.

Maryland. Norman had no idea why he'd drawn a dot in Maryland. When he'd torn his attention away from Northern California, some voice inside him, what he called his beast's voice for lack of anything better, said Maryland was where he needed to go, so he'd made a pen mark in Maryland too.

Norman spent the next two weeks planning his route up the East Coast toward Maryland and saying his goodbyes. Turned out he had a rather large sum of money in his bank account, more than enough to support him for several months while he figured out where the hell he was supposed to be and why. His apartment lease was almost up so that worked out as well. His landlord expressed her disappointment that he was leaving, but Norman could smell the arousal coming off her and couldn't get out of her apartment fast enough.

The senior citizens at the community threw him a farewell party. Everyone was there, including Amy who stilled smelled of arousal but also bitterness now.

"Didn't find what you were looking for here, huh?" she asked, trailing a red-tipped fingernail along the shoulder of his shirt.

Norman had to fight the urge to sprout claws and fangs, so he clenched his jaw and smiled tightly at her. "Nope, just doesn’t feel like home."

He was only too glad to get on the bus the next morning and start his journey North. Cities and towns passed by in a blur. Norman would get off the bus long enough to grab something to eat, use the bathroom and take a good sniff of the air. When the bus came to the end of the line in Washington, DC, he slung his bag over his shoulder and started walking. Whatever he was looking for was in Maryland, something in his gut had pointed him in that direction; now all he had to do was find it.

The first thing he did was find a reasonable hotel where he could wash the smells of the bus off and do a load of laundry. Then he headed off to a grocery store. Lemongrass and sage were only part of the scent he was searching for; he needed to figure out what the missing elements were.

He spent over an hour in the produce department of the Whole Food store until the produce manager started looking at him funny. He grabbed some lemongrass, some sage, some apples, and an orange, paid for it all and left.  

As he was walking back to the hotel he passed a flower shop, he closed his eyes and smelled. There was something familiar, so he went inside. The floral scent was overpowering but there underneath everything was something sweet, something fresh, something familiar.

"Can I help you?"

Startled, Norman turned to see a dark haired girl with glasses. He glanced down at her smock and saw her nametag.

"Karin? Um, no, right now I'm just looking."

"Are you looking for something in particular?"

Norman shook his head. "No."

"If you need any help, let me know. We've got some great deals on mixed flower bouquets."

She wandered off to help someone else before Norman got the chance to thank her. He closed his eyes again, sniffing the air, trying to find the one scent in a plethora of them. Slowly he moved around the shop, trying to follow the sweet scent he'd smelled earlier. He chased it to the cooler where they kept the roses, but it wasn't any of the flowers outside the cooler. When he opened the door, the scent of the roses was overpowering but the sweet fresh scent was still there. He narrowed his eyes, looking at each and every one of them, finally spotting a single white rose clear in the back.

"Did you find something you like?" Karin asked, sliding in behind him.

"That white rose in the back, can I look at it please?"

"Sure."

Norman watched as she pulled it out and handed it to him. "For your girlfriend?"

He closed his eyes and buried his nose in the rose, taking a deep breath. The familiarity of the scent was so powerful it brought tears to his eyes. "Something like that. Is this the only one you have?"

"Yes, sorry about that. We had a wedding we were prepping for and those were really popular. We should get another delivery tomorrow if you want to come back."

Norman clutched the rose, desperately wanting to get back to his hotel room and let the fragrance of it mix with his other purchases.

"Do you want me to wrap that up for you?" Karin asked cautiously.

"Yes."

Karin wrapped it up and after Norman paid, he returned to his hotel as fast as he could. He laid the rose on the table along with the lemongrass, the sage, and the apple. They sat there for several minutes before he leaned over and inhaled. He frowned for a moment and then picked the apple up and bit, chewing thoughtfully before taking another bite and setting the apple back down on the table.

Norman picked the sage up next, ripping off a few leaves and crushing them between his fingers and spreading the leaves over the flesh of the apple. Next he picked up the lemongrass, ripped it into pieces and sprinkled it over the sage and the apple. Then he pulled one petal from the rose and pressed it into the bitten apple. He closed his eyes and took another deep breath.

A flood of emotions washed over him, driving him to his knees. Grief and anger, love and betrayal, abandonment and despair, but then the fresh scent of the rose emerged, bringing with it a feeling of happiness, and suddenly Norman was laughing despite the tears slipping down his face. This was it, the scent he'd been looking for, it wasn't perfect, it was missing the essence of the person it belonged to, but he'd found it. Now he needed to find the person it belonged to.

Over two months had passed since Stiles did his VTC, the trial was over, verdict guilty. The sentencing portion was scheduled for the following week and life had been good. He and Lydia were back on an even keel now that he wasn't so stressed out about the trial. He was on his way to meet some friends at the Starbucks, in fact, Jase had texted him and already said they were there.

Stiles quickly made his way through the crowd and joined his friends in line. They were jostling each other and Stiles bumped into the guy in front of him. He patted him on the back. "Sorry man, I'll be more careful."

"Be sure you do," the man grunted without even turning around.

Startled, Stiles looked at him, took in the broad muscles, the dark hair, the tight waist, and the perfect ass and his breath caught in his throat. "Derek?"

The man didn't even turn around, just moved up and placed his order. When he turned to move down the line, Stiles had an excellent view of his profile. There was no doubt in his mind it was Derek.

"Can I take your order?"

Stiles stammered out his order for a tall caramel frappuccino with whipped cream, paid, and stepped further down the line, closer to Derek.

"Norman?"

Derek reached out, took the cup, and turned to go but he stopped at the door, his nostrils flaring. He frowned for a second and then opened the door and disappeared.

Stiles' heart was jack-rabbiting, it literally felt like it was going to burst right out of ribcage. He clutched at his chest as it started to ache with each breath he took. He needed to get the fuck out of here and hope Derek didn't recognize his fucking scent.

"Hey guys, I just remembered I needed to um, finish my essay for my English Lit class, so um, I'll catch you all later?"

"Sure man, wanna grab some Thai later? I'll order, meet you in your room for some Farscape?"

Dazed, Stiles just nodded. "Yeah, sure that's fine, see you then, Jase."

And then he tried not to bolt for the door. He made it back to his room in record time, and after barely taking a sip of his iced caffeine goodness, he speed dialed Lydia.

"Come on, come on, pick up, pick up."

"Stiles."

"What the fuck is Derek doing here? How the fuck did he find me? Did he find me? He acted like he didn't even know me. What the actual fuck is going on?"

"Derek? What do you mean you saw Derek? When? Where?"

"At my coffee shop, my _favorite_ coffee shop about fifteen minutes ago. Lydia, what the hell is going on? What is he doing here?"

"Stiles, Derek's been missing for over two months. Nobody's seen or heard from him."

Stiles' heart stuttered in his chest. "What? Missing? Why the fuck didn't anyone tell me?"

"Why do you think Stiles? Last time I mentioned Beacon Hills you hung up on me."

She was right, he did. "Tell me now."

"The night before he was supposed to testify at the trial, he went missing. Peter said he went out for a run and just never came back."

"Oh and we're believing Peter now?"

"Scott says he's not lying."

That made Stiles' breath catch in his throat and his stomach plummet to the floor because if Scott was actually talking to Peter long enough to discern whether he was lying or not, then that made shit even more real.

"I need to sit down," he mumbled into the phone. He slid down to the floor and put his head between his knees, the phone still clasped against the side of his head, Lydia chattering into his ear. "Lyds, hold on."

"Stiles, breathe. In. Out. Come on," her impatience tempered by the concern in her voice.

He did as she said and tried to slow his breathing. His mind continued to race even when he had his breathing under control.

"Derek didn't know who I was, he didn't recognize me."

"What? How?"

"I bumped into him. I even clapped him on the shoulder and apologized, and he just turned and told me to be more careful next time. He had no idea who I was."

"Shit." Lydia muttered over the phone.

"I think, hold on, lemme think a second." Stiles shut his eyes, trying to remember the name the barista had called out. "Norman. He's going by the name of Norman, or at least that's the name the barista called out when she handed him his coffee. Still black by the way, the coffee I mean."

"Norman?" Lydia asked and Stiles could hear her typing away in the background. The woman had more contacts than anyone he knew, besides Danny. "Okay, I just sent a text off to Danny with that name, see if he can turn anything up."

"Why would he be going by Norman? Why wouldn't he recognize me?"

"How the hell should I know?" Lydia snapped back.

"You have way more contact with anyone back there than I do, and you know, wait, why the hell do I care?" Stiles was getting angry. Seeing Derek had brought everything rushing right back to him, everything he'd tried to bury, to lose, by leaving all that shit behind. It was the unbidden image of his Dad cradled in Derek's arms, blood covering them both, that resolved the problem for him, he didn't have to help, not anymore.

"Nope. I saw him, he's obviously here in Baltimore going by the name of Norman. I don't care who you give the information to, but leave me out of it. Tell them someone you knew, someone you used to date, I don't care. Do not tell them it was me. I gotta go."

"Stiles. Stiles. STILES!" Lydia shouted into the phone but Stiles ended the call and put his phone on vibrate.

He was not getting involved with this. Not even close. He shot off a quick text to Jase, apologizing for bailing on them and asking where he could meet them.

_Still at Starbucks. Cum bak._

Stiles grabbed his keys, his backpack and headed back to Starbucks. By the time he returned he was so frustrated with himself he wanted to kick his own ass. The entire walk there he kept his eyes peeled for any sign of Derek. But there was nothing. Maybe he was just passing through.

"What the hell happened to you?" Jase asked, pulling out a chair for Stiles to sit on. "Because it sure as hell wasn't English Lit like you said."

"Yeah, sorry about that, um, I thought I saw someone I knew." He sat down, glancing around at the rest of his friends.

"Oh, you mean, from back home –" Jase's voice trailed off and the rest of the group shifted uneasily.

They all were aware of how much Stiles didn't talk about where he came from. Jase, Jess, and Val were the only ones here that knew anything, and all they knew was Stiles' Dad was the Sheriff and he'd been killed in the line of duty, so Stiles had left.

"So did you find them? Your friend?" Val piped up.

Stiles turned to look at her, her blue eyes interested but also concerned. He shook his head. "Nope, must have been mistaken."

"That's too bad," she replied.

"Yeah, too bad," Stiles said softly, offering her a weak smile.

She turned back to the rest of the group, running a quick hand through her blond pageboy hair. "So, we going to the Delta party tonight?"

Jase and the others immediately dove into the pros and cons of the Delta party, Stiles shot Val a grateful smile for changing the subject, and she winked at him before joining into the argument herself. They might not be pack, might not know all his secrets, but Stiles had a pretty good group here and he sure as hell wasn't about to expose them to any werewolf shit, so the pack would have to figure out Derek's problems on their own.

Norman started at the northwest corner of Maryland and started working his way east. His progress was slow even though the state wasn’t very big. He came across a familiar scent in Cumberland, but it was missing the lemongrass. It made Norman wonder if it was a relative of the person he was looking for or maybe a friend. Regardless, it didn’t matter since he didn’t know the name or anything but the scent.

He spent his nights at hotels, eating takeout, watching whatever was on the SyFy channel because it was really the only interesting channel. It was late at night when the channel switched to infomercials that Norman would lie awake, the TV flickering silver in the darkness and stare at the ceiling, questions haunting his mind.

_Why was he alone? Where was his family? Were people looking for him? Why was this scent so familiar when everything else wasn’t? What if the person belonging to the scent wanted nothing to do with him?_

That last question was the one that scared Norman to death. The mere idea of it sent pain stabbing through his heart, made his breath catch in his throat, made him want to find the person and _beg_ them to love him because he knew without them? He was nothing.

He grew more and more tired each day as his sleep grew more and more restless. It was as if the beast inside him knew he was getting closer and was pushing Norman further than he could humanly go. Humanly. Like he was even human. He still didn’t know what the fuck he was. Maybe it would go away when he found the person he was looking for. Maybe they knew what he was and maybe they had a cure.

That was enough to inspire him to keep walking. He was on the Eastern Shore, it was almost time to head into the city. He’d avoided Baltimore because he knew the scent of so many people would be overwhelming, but he’d covered just about every other part of Maryland, there was nowhere else left to go.

He was in Annapolis when he first caught a whiff of it. He was standing outside the gates of the Naval Academy and it was fleeting, just a hint of it with the sea air, but it was there. Given how weak it was Norman knew the person it belonged to wasn’t in Annapolis, it was much further away, maybe Washington or Baltimore.

Checking the map, Norman decided on Baltimore because Washington wasn’t technically in Maryland and his instinct, the beast inside him, was demanding that his person, _his mate_ , was in Maryland. Norman refolded the map, resolutely ignoring the beast inside him that kept chanting _mate, mate, mate_.

He didn’t want to think of the implications of that. It brought all the questions that haunted him at night rushing back to the forefront and made him want to let the beast take over and go running off into the woods. But Norman was afraid if he did, he might never be human again. So he fought the urge and hopped a bus to Baltimore.

The first thing he did when he arrived was find a hotel. His beast was right. The scent was everywhere, as if the person it belonged to had actually scent marked the entire city of Baltimore. Instinctually, Norman knew that wasn’t the case, knew it meant the person had probably been here for a few years, hell they might have grown up here for all Norman knew. He didn’t want to think about that either, because what if the person didn’t know Norman or how to fix him? How to tame the beast, make it go away?

Norman shook his head and looked around his hotel room. It Looked like any other room, bad carpeting, a bedspread that should have been retired about twenty years earlier, and a very small bathroom. It didn’t matter though; the scent was strongest in this area of town. He was bound to run into the person eventually.

After he’d showered off the stink of travel and dressed in some clean clothes, he’d washed his dirty ones in the sink and hung them to dry. Then he went out to explore, hoping to see if he could track the many different scent trails that had been left behind.

The scent was strongest the closer he got to one of the local college campuses. He wasn’t even sure which college it was, didn’t matter really although it did make him wonder how old his person was. _Mate_ , his beast helpfully supplied. Norman sighed but his eyes lit up when he saw a Starbucks sign. Coffee would help, even if it only affected him for a few minutes, those few minutes were golden.

He pushed open the door and took a quick inhale of the caffeine-loaded scent. The other scent was here as well, strong but not overly. That had to mean his person frequented this place. Norman looked around; it was full of college students. He tried to keep his annoyance to a minimum. In his travels he’d found college kids to be loud, boisterous, and always seemed to smell of pot or beer, both smells Norman found extremely distasteful.

The entire atmosphere of the coffee shop made his beast anxious, he could feel it pacing inside him, growling, wanting to be unleashed. Figuring the person he was looking for wasn’t here at the moment he stopped concentrating on the odors, scaled back his sense of smell and focused on not killing someone before he ordered his coffee.

He was just about to place his order when someone bumped into him from behind. Norman shot a quick glance behind him. The kid was about his height, brown hair, amber colored eyes and he had that look as if he’d been a gangly teenager and had finally grown into his limbs, just like a cub growing into its paws. The kid patted Norman on the back, still looking at his friends. "Sorry man, I'll be more careful."

"Be sure you do," Norman growled, not even looking at the kid or otherwise acknowledging his existence.

"Derek?"

A shiver raced up and down Norman's spine but he ignored it as he placed his order and moved down the line. He could still feel the kid at his back, smell his anxiety and fear. It was off-putting and made his beast whine inside him. The feeling was so unsettling that Norman grabbed his coffee and didn't even bother with adding any sugar or cream, he liked it black most of the time anyway. At the door he paused, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, scenting the place one last time before backing out the door.

He was halfway back to the hotel before it even registered that the smell of the coffee shop had changed. When he left the smell of lemongrass and sage had been stronger. He dropped his coffee in the nearest trashcan and sprinted back to the Starbucks. His beast howled impatiently as if it knew he'd missed his person. _Mate_ , his beast stubbornly repeated. Norman barely had himself under control when he reached his destination, only enough to not burst through the door and make a fool of himself.

Displaying casualness he didn't feel, he pushed through the door and looked around the place. A few people looked up as he walked in but quickly returned their attention to their papers, their laptops, or their companions. There was a group of loud college students at the back left corner, taking up about four or five chairs, a couple of them were making gestures with their hands, but other than that the shop was quiet and his mate was gone.

Without a word, he turned and left the Starbucks. The scent trail was faint but he could follow it. He lost it though when he got to the campus. There were just too many overlapping trails. This kid, because it had to be a college kid, was all over the place. He followed about five different trails, each one leading to a different building and none of them residences. Frustrated, Norman gave up and went back to his hotel. He needed to think, to figure out what he was going to do.

Pacing the room, his beast paced inside him, matching him stride for stride. He knew the kid frequented the Starbucks; he could just stake it out and wait. He had a laptop, they had free WiFi, he'd fit right in. The campus was another possibility, probably an easier one. He knew which buildings the kid frequented even if he hadn't found the one where the kid lived. Come Monday he could just wander the campus walking back and forth between the buildings until the kid came by.

Then it struck him. It was a college campus. It was the weekend and there were usually parties. There was a good chance the kid would be there tonight at one of the parties or maybe studying in one of the buildings depending on what kind of student he was. Either way, it was worth it to check it out.

Quickly Norman rifled through his clothes looking for something that didn't scream 'scary stalker' and seemed more college party worthy. Not that he knew what kind of clothes college kids wore to parties. He wasn't sure he'd even gone to college. Hell he didn't even know how old he was other than over eighteen. His ID said he was twenty-six but considering everything else that felt wrong, maybe that was wrong as well.

He finally settled on a dark pair of jeans and a black Henley shirt. He grabbed a leather jacket he'd picked up in Georgia and slid it on right before he walked out the door. When he'd left Florida, he had left most of the pastels and resort wear behind; they had never felt right anyway. He made his way back to the campus and then let his senses take over, gave the beast inside him a bit of lag on the leash he kept him on, hoping it would help find his kid. _His mate._

It wasn't long before Norman found himself in the middle of a party. The music assaulted his ears, the smell of cigarette smoke, pot, and alcohol permeated the air, but underneath it all was that fresh scent of lemongrass, sage, apples, and white roses. His mate was here, he just had to find the one in all this crowd.

The scent sharpened and got stronger. Norman scanned the room and the beast picked out a heartbeat among all the sounds in the room. Norman tried to pinpoint it and it sped up to an alarming rate. Worry etched its way onto Norman's face as he searched the crowd more frantically, gaze finally landing on the kid that had bumped into him at Starbucks.

 _MATE!_ The beast howled in his head. And then the kid looked at him, fury and betrayal burning hot in his eyes.

Of course whenever Stiles made any promises to himself like that, they always went to shit. The Delta party was a bust, well only for Stiles. Everyone else was more than happy to get drunk, dance, and make-out. Stiles was too, until he looked up and spotted Derek across the room. His heart rate skyrocketed and the look on Derek's face changed to one of concern.

Something about it infuriated Stiles and all the feelings he'd kept buried for the past two years came rushing forward, consuming him in rage and betrayal. Coldly he met Derek's gaze before clenching his jaw, setting his cup down and making his way determinedly through the crowd right toward Derek.

"What the hell are you doing here, Derek?" Stiles ground out through clenched teeth. He knew Derek could hear him even above all the music and noise.

Derek stared at him, a confused look on his face. "Who's Derek?"

Stiles saw red. He wrapped a hand around Derek's bicep and yanked. "We're leaving. Right now."

Fortunately, Derek followed him out into the cool night air. Stiles let his arm go and shoved him, hard. Derek barely moved but it made Stiles feel better.

"What the fuck are you doing here Derek? How the fuck did you find me? Did Lydia tell you where I was?"

The anger and hurt at the idea of Lydia giving up his location made Stiles want to punch something.

"Who is Derek? My name is Norman Eugene and up until about a month and a half ago I was an activities director at a retirement community in Florida."

"Oh my God, would you stop with that shit? You are not Norman, you're Derek Freaking Hale from Beacon Hills, California and you are not supposed to be here. So tell me again, how the fuck did you find me?"

Derek's face turned red and he started shuffling his feet back and forth as if he was uncomfortable. "You wouldn't understand," he said softly.

"God, this is unbelievable," Stiles yelled, pacing around Derek, running a hand through his hair. He shot Derek a glare before pulling his phone out and dialing Lydia.

"Stiles?"

"Lydia, so help me, you didn't tell Derek where I am did you?"

"No, I told you he was missing. Why would I do that?"

"He's here, right in front of me, says his name is Norman Eugene and he's from Florida. What the actual fuck is going on?"

"Where are you?"

"I was at a fucking party, trying to move on with my life and have a good time and there he was across the room, brooding like the McBroodypants he is."

"Where are you now?"

"Outside the damn party."

"You should take him back to your place. I need to make some calls."

"No. Lydia, NO. I want NO part of this. You understand? Nothing, nada, zilch, zippo."

"Well, you can't just leave him there," she said flatly.

"Oh yeah? Watch me." Stiles hung up on her and turned to look at Derek. "Look, I don't know why the hell you're here, but I'm pretty sure I made it damn clear I was done with you and all your supernatural bullshit. So you can just fuck right off back to Florida and forget you ever found me. You hear?"

He turned on his heel and started walking away. Quickly. He'd only gone about ten steps when he realized Derek was following him and then his phone started to ring. "Jesus," he sighed, answering his phone. "What?"

"Stiles, please take him back to your place. I can do a simultaneous Skype with Allison. She's in contact with Scott."

"No, Lydia. A world of no." He hung up again and pointed at Derek. "And you, stop following me."

He started to walk away again only to stop when he realized Derek was still following him. "What?" he asked angrily, turning around to glare at Derek again. "What part of 'stop following me' didn't you get? Stop following me. I want nothing to do with you. Pretty sure I made that clear. Go away."

"Please," Derek whispered. "I don't know where else to go. Florida wasn't home."

"No shit, genius, you're from Beacon Hills, California. Let me know when that sinks in."

"Why do you hate me? I've come here all the way from Florida, looking for you, in the hopes that you could help me. What the fuck did I ever do to you?" Derek said angrily, his eyes flashing red.

"You let my father die," Stiles said coldly.

"What?" Derek asked, the color draining out of his face. "Did I? Did I do something to him?"

"No, Jesus, what the fuck is wrong with you? Don't you remember any of this?"

"No."

"I can't believe you can just stand there and spew such bullshit, wait wh-what?" Stiles stopped and stared at Derek his brain finally catching up.

"I have no idea who you are. I've never seen you before in my life until I saw you in that Starbucks."

Something twisted in Stiles' gut, he could feel the rug being yanked out from underneath him. "What did you say your name was?"

"Norman. Norman Eugene. I'm twenty-six and I'm from Kissimmee, Florida."

"Oh God," Stiles said, Derek's words sending an icy fist wrapping around his heart. "So um, Jesus, um, here? Me? Fuck, how? Why here?"

"Because of you. Your scent. I followed it. It – you smelled like home."

The words hit Stiles like a punch to the chest, the icy fist in his chest squeezing his heart and pulling it out, leaving nothing but a gaping hole behind. "I need to sit down," he whispered, sinking down to the ground right there on the sidewalk. He bent over and put his head between his knees.

Clasping his hands behind his neck, Stiles shut his eyes, focused on his breathing, tried not to pay attention to the images in his head or the possible implications of Derek's words. His phone rang and he put it up to his ear.

"He doesn't remember," he said into it tonelessly.

"Remember what?" Lydia asked.

"Anything."

"What?" her voice rose.

"It's like his memory has been wiped."

"Then how the hell did he find you?"

"My scent. He said I smelled like home."

"Oh Stiles."

"You don't think Deucalion…" his voice trailed off.

"No. Allison would have said something. It's gotta be something else. He followed your scent?"

"Apparently."

"But you're not in Florida, so how would he know what you smelled like?"

"Hold on."

Stiles looked up at Derek who was staring at him with this forlorn look on his face. "How did you follow my scent from Florida, I've never been there."

"It's complicated." Derek shrugged, noncommittally.

"Uncomplicate it," Stiles ordered.

"It was just sage at first. It was familiar. Then it was lemongrass and then the two mixed together and – do we have to do this here? Is there someplace we can go? The music is really starting to bother me. Do you know what I am? Why I have these um, extra senses?" he whispered the last part.

"Stiles?" Lydia said through the phone.

"You heard all that?"

"Yes. Take him home. Take him back to your place."

"No, Lydia. NO."

"You heard what he said, he has no idea who he is, who you are, what happened, or even what he is. Help him or you're no better."

"Low blow, Lyds."

Clicking his phone off, Stiles dropped his head again. Taking a couple of deep breaths in, he shook his upper body, rolled his shoulders before standing up. "Let's go. I don't live that far from here. We'll get to my place and hopefully start getting some answers."

Slowly he stood up, brushed the dirt off his ass and turned toward his dorm. Derek followed closely but not too closely. The walk was silent and the tension was thick enough to cut with a knife. Stiles didn't even invite Derek inside his room, just held the door for him.

He went to his desk and grabbed the chair, dragging it out into the center of the room, in full view of his desk. "You can sit there," he pointed to the chair. "I need to get something."

Under his watchful eye, Derek sat and when Stiles was satisfied that he wasn't going to move, he went into the closet and dug around in the back behind some of his dirty clothes and shoes. The bag was there, a bit dusty, but there. He pulled it down and opened it up. After a quick sniff he determined it was fine and he walked back out into the room.

"What is that?" Derek asked flatly, his eyes already red.

Instead of answering, Stiles just made a circle of it on the floor around Derek's chair. There was an audible 'pop' when he completed it. Just having the barrier made Stiles relax a fraction.

"What did you just do?" Derek asked, a tinge of panic to his voice.

Stiles turned to face him and wasn't surprised to see him partially wolfed out. "Just a bit of protection for me. Mountain ash, never leave home without it. Although, this is the first time in two years that I've needed it. Want to tell me why, Derek?"

Derek stood up and tried to leave the circle only to land flat on his ass beside the chair. "What – what did you do to me? Are you some kind of witch or wizard? What the hell did you do to me?" he roared, eyes flashing red and teeth elongating.

Stiles just stared at him, unimpressed with the show of eyes and fangs. He crossed his arms and just stood silently until Derek stopped growling. "You done?"

Silently, Derek nodded.

"Sit." When Derek did as he asked, Stiles started to pace, rolling everything over in his head. He stopped and turned to Derek.

"You don't know who I am?"

"No."

"Beacon Hills, California mean anything to you?"

Derek shook his head.

"Scott, Lydia, Isaac, the Argents? Anything ring a bell?"

Again, Derek shook his head.

"What about the Alpha pack?"

"What's an Alpha pack? And are you going to tell me what's wrong with me anytime soon? I mean, why my eyes turn red, why I get these horrible fangs? Did something bite me? Why am I like this? And can you fix me? Make me not be like this?"

Something inside Stiles broke at Derek’s words. The icy fist holding his heart threw it on the ground and stepped on it, shattering it into a million pieces. Derek was the Alpha, he should never be this unsure, this vulnerable, and seeing Derek like this drained all the anger right out of Stiles, leaving nothing but sadness and resignation behind.

Stiles pulled up the extra chair he kept for friends and sat down on it, facing Derek. He took a deep breath but before he could speak, Derek spoke first.

"Do we know each other? Are we friends? Why is your scent…" his voice trailed off and the tips of his ears went pink.

Taking a deep breath, Stiles shut his eyes, steeled himself for what was to come. "Yeah, we know each other, but we haven't seen each other in over two years."

"Why?"

But Stiles didn't have to answer, he saw the emotions flicker across Derek's face.

"You said earlier that I let your father die. What did you mean?"

"We aren't talking about that right now," Stiles said coldly. "Look, I'll give you your answers, connect you back up with your pack but that's it, after that, I'm done."

The look on Derek's face made Stiles hesitate. It was full of fear and loss.

"Please –"

"Please what? I told you I'd help. Can we just leave it at that for now?"

Quickly, Derek nodded his head.

"Good. Okay, I'm gonna get Skype fired up and get Lydia online, she should be here for some of this."

He grabbed his Macbook off the desk and fired it up, logging into Skype and dialing up Lydia.

"Okay Stiles, I have Allison on my iPhone, so she can hear us."

"Are you sure Allison is the best person for this?" Despite not wanting to get involved, he also didn't want to expose a vulnerable Derek to a hunter. He hadn't spoken with Allison in over two years, never let Lydia give him any updates. For all he knew, she'd become the matriarch of the Argent family and would just as happily kill Derek as help him.

Lydia rolled her eyes. "Stiles, I'm not an idiot.

"Stiles?" Allison called out from the computer. "Look, I know we haven't talked or, you know, anything, but things are different. We, I, have a truce with Derek and it's been working for, well, since you left. We've had no problems and we work together to keep the town safe. Things were rough for a while, you know, when Scott and I…" her voice trailed off for a second. "Anyway, we need Derek back, we need him because the Hale territory is Alpha-less right now and they need one. Scott refuses to claim Peter and he doesn't have the Hale name. I can only take the Argent name so far."

"Okay, I get it." Stiles replied, cutting Allison off. "I said I would help, now can we just get on with it?"

"You should probably tell him," Lydia said gently.

Stiles sighed, because of course he would have to be the one. He clenched his fists, anger washing over him again, warring with the sadness and pity he felt for Derek right now.

He turned back to Derek. "There's no easy way to do this so I'm just going to say it fast like ripping off a Band-Aid. You're a werewolf. You were born a werewolf, you're the last surviving member of your family besides your sister Cora, who moved to New York and left you, and your crazypants Uncle Peter behind. You are the Hale Alpha. It's why you have hair growth issues, fangs, and red eyes. It's also why you can see and hear better than a normal human being."

Stiles stared at the floor, not even looking at Derek while he continued. "About two months ago, you disappeared from Beacon Hills, California; it's where you're from. You were supposed to testify at the trial of the guy who murdered my father. You never showed up. Nobody knew where you were until I saw in you Starbucks."

When he finished, he looked up at Derek, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth, afraid of what he was going to see there. Derek was staring at him with wide eyes, disbelief written all over his face. Derek dropped his head and let out a bitter laugh. "I should never have left Florida. Jesus. I follow a scent that I think is familiar and it leads me to someone who kidnaps me, and binds me to a chair with ashes. Now you're trying to convince me that I’m a werewolf. What the fuck was I thinking? I had a nice life in a Florida, a job, a bike, a clean apartment just minutes from the beach."

Stiles stared at him, his mouth opening and closing until finally Derek looked back up at him. "What?"

"Dude, you've never said that many words all at one time in your entire life."

"Don't call me dude."

"Now, that is the Derek Hale we all know and love."

"I am not Derek Hale," Derek yelled, his eyes flashing red, fangs extending.

"Newsflash," Stiles said, scrabbling on the table for the compact Jess had left after their study session the other day. He flipped it open and showed Derek his face. "You are."

Derek stared at his reflection for about two seconds before looking away. "I'm not," he said stubbornly.

Huffing out a sigh, Stiles slid the compact back onto the table and turned back to his MacBook, his hands up in the air. "There you have it, folks, Derek Hale at his avoidably best. Jesus, how did you get your memory wiped? Lydia, any idea? Have you checked the bestiary?"

"We both have Stiles," Allison answered back. "There's nothing. Nothing about how to wipe an alpha's memory, nothing about a beast or a demon or a witch that specializes in wiping memory, there is nothing."

"Lydia? Any memory returning spells? Really? I'm spitballing here."

"Still looking, but really, there's nothing."

"Shit."

"Why are you so upset? You're not the one that has red eyes, grows hair and sprouts fangs at the drop of a hat. Do you have any idea what would have happened to me if I'd done that at my job?" Derek snarled.

"Huh, and you wonder why the fuck I left," Stiles snarked back.

"Not right now I don't."

Stiles shook his head and stood up. He walked over to Derek and broke the mountain ash circle. "Get out."

"Gladly," Derek growled, before storming out.

"Stiles!"

"Stiles!"

Both Lydia and Allison called out to him.

"Good night ladies," Stiles said, shutting his computer down and turning off his phone.

Norman left Stiles' dorm room, raced down the stairs, and ran off into the night. His heart was pounding and the beast – _wolf_ – inside him was howling for release. With a ripping of denim, a cracking of his bones, he shifted and raced off into the darkness.

The wolf took over and Norman lost himself in it. All his worries were gone; it was just the wind ruffling his fur and the moonlight shining down. He ran for hours until the wolf finally stopped, panting for breath. He found a stream and drank before he lay down, head on his paws. Norman wanted to shift back but didn't know how to accomplish it, figured the wolf would eventually get tired and he would come back.

He woke up naked. He looked around him, grateful that the beast – _his wolf_ – had the sense to fall asleep under the cover of some trees and behind a rock. But he was naked, no clothes, no shoes, no keys, and no phone.

As he started walking, the events of the previous night came rushing back. The one person he thought would help him, hated him. The knowledge of that crushed him, left him gasping for breath, clutching his chest feeling as if he was having a heart attack. He'd pinned all his hopes on this Stiles. Now he had nothing. Nowhere to go, nobody to go to, nothing.

The beast – _his wolf_ – howled inside him, begging for release again. Norman remembered the mindless running, and wondered why he was fighting it so much. So he gave in and let the beast free. It took off and Norman didn't care.

Until he realized it was running right back to Stiles' dorm. He tried to force a shift but the wolf was having none of it. It bounded up the steps in Stiles' dorm building. Norman's hope was that maybe Stiles wasn't home, but when the wolf started snuffling outside his door, scratching at the frame, and whining, Norman knew all hope was lost. Even buried under the control of the wolf, he could smell Stiles; hear his heartbeat.

It didn't take long for Stiles opened the door. The wolf didn't waste any time, he jumped up and licked Stiles right in the face before dropping back to all fours and pushing his way into the room. He plopped down and looked up at Stiles, his tongue hanging out of the side of his mouth, as he panted from exertion.

"Change back."

The wolf whined and laid his head down, blinking at Stiles, content just to be with his mate, finally.

Stiles rolled his eyes before rummaging through his closet for a bowl and grabbing a bottle of water to pour into it. He set it down on the floor in front of Norman.

Happily, the wolf lapped at the water until it was half gone, then he licked Stiles in the face again before collapsing at his feet. Again, Norman tried to shift, but the wolf just growled at him so he stopped. Stiles glared down at him, his hands on his hips.

"Derek Hale, you change right the fuck back right the fuck now!"

The wolf merely whimpered and tucked its tail, unhappy that his mate was so upset.

"Jesus," Stiles ran a hand through his hair in obvious frustration.

The wolf sat up, head butted his thigh. Stiles dropped his hand down, automatically scratching behind his ears and Norman wondered for the first time just what the history was between them. Apparently, that was enough, the wolf ceded control to him, and he shifted until he was kneeling naked at Stiles feet, Stiles' hand buried in the hair behind his ear and Norman's face pushed into his thigh.

"Fuck! Warn a guy," Stiles shoved him away. "God damnit!" He turned away from Norman. "There's t-shirts in the bottom drawer along with some sweats, put some clothes on."

"Are you gonna throw me out again?"

Stiles turned back around. "I don't know, are you gonna be an asshole again?"

Feeling his skin heat up, Norman shifted his gaze to the floor. "I'm sorry. I just, a werewolf? Really? Fuck, in my head I’m Norman Eugene, born and raised in Kissimmee, Florida and yet you're telling me I was born a werewolf in California, that my family's dead and I’m an Alpha. It's a bit much to take in and I lost it."

Huffing out a sigh, Stiles moved over to the dresser, pulling out the clothes Derek wasn't getting for himself. He tossed them at Norman who caught them right before they hit his face.

"Sorry. Um, put those on and I guess we can talk." He turned his back on Norman again.

Quickly, Norman dressed. The shirt was orange and blue and had just the faintest hint of his own scent on it. "Why does this shirt smell like me?" he asked curiously, slipping the sweats on over his hips.

Facing him, Stiles face went red and Norman could smell his embarrassment and something bitter, probably sadness.

"Um, you wore it once, in my room, your shirt had blood on it and you changed into that one. You had it on for about two seconds."

"And you never washed it?"

Stiles shrugged and sat down in the chair at his desk. He motioned toward the bed and Norman sat down on the edge of it. "Um, what do you want to know?"

There was so much, so many questions he had, Norman didn't know where to start. _Mate_ , his wolf said but Norman ignored it. "How did my family die?"

"Hunters. The family was barricaded in the basement and hunters set fire to the house. Only your Uncle Peter and your sister Cora made it out, you and your sister Laura were at school when it happened."

"Where are they? Peter, Laura, and Cora? "

"Yeah, um, Peter killed your sister Laura and became the Alpha. As for Cora? Nobody knows how she survived the fire or where the hell she was all the years afterward. You might know, maybe."

Rage and sadness filled Norman even though he felt little or no attachment to the people Stiles was telling him about. His wolf growled and snarled inside him. "I thought I was the Alpha. What do you mean he killed Laura and became the Alpha?"

"Your mom, Talia, was the Alpha. When she was killed in the fire, Laura became Alpha. Peter killed her, you killed Peter, with some help, but you were the one that actually killed him and..."

"Oh." Norman's mind was reeling. Stiles was giving him so much information and he didn't know how to handle it all.

"Can I ask you something?"

Warily, Norman raised an eyebrow at Stiles.

"Lemongrass and sage?"

Relief flooded through Norman and he actually smiled. "One of the women at the retirement community was from Thailand. She'd made Thai food and used lemongrass. It was the second familiar scent I smelled. Three days earlier it was sage. I knew whatever or whoever I was looking for was going to smell like lemongrass and sage. But not just that, there were other things I didn't find until I was in a hotel room."

"Huh, so um…"

Norman watched as a blush crept up Stiles' neck and into his face.

"What else do I smell like?"

"Apples and white roses."

Stiles laughed, and the sound of it lifted Norman's heart, made him feel like maybe things wouldn't be so bad after all.

"Huh. Um, have you recognized any other smells?"

"Arousal. It smells kind of spicy. The yoga instructor where I worked, Amy, smelled like it all the time. And she always had this predatory look about her, like she wanted to eat me alive or something. It was disturbing."

"Oh."

"She kind of reminded me of someone but obviously I could never figure out who."

"Kate," Stiles whispered.

"Kate?"

"Nobody, sorry, just, nobody," Stiles stammered.

Norman glared at him, hoping that said glare would force Stiles into submission and make him answer the question. Unfortunately, Stiles held his hands up in a gesture of surrender. "Hey, sorry. Um, it's just you've had a lot thrown at you tonight, maybe we could talk about her tomorrow? Or you know, never; never's good too."

There was a story there, an unpleasant one judging from Stiles' reaction and it made him just the tiniest bit grateful to Stiles for wanting to spare him the story. "Thank you."

"What?" Stiles spluttered out. "I mean, why?"

"For not telling me. You're right, today's been a bit overwhelming. I should probably go."

Norman went to stand up but Stiles grabbed his wrist. "Do you have someplace to go?"

Unable to take his eyes off where Stiles' long fingers encircled his wrist, Norman nodded. "I’ve got a hotel not too far from campus."

"Oh shit, dude, those places are dives, like real live holes in the wall, flea-bag ridden dives." Again, Stiles huffed out a sigh and ran a hand through is hair. "Look, you can crash here until we figure things out."

"And then you're done?"

Stiles gave him a wan smile. "Yeah, you heard that. Um, yeah, then I'm done."

But Norman heard his heart stutter and the wolf inside him thumped its tail.

Stiles lay in his bed staring at the ceiling. Derek. In his dorm room. Sleeping on the floor just feet away from him. He knew Derek wasn't asleep, wasn't sure how he knew, but he knew. The wolf – _Derek_ – had come to find him after running off into the woods earlier. Stiles wasn't sure what that meant. Or maybe he was. After all, it was his scent that Derek remembered and followed to find him here.

And he'd only shifted back after Stiles had scratched – _rubbed_ – at his fur, the first sign of forgiveness. _Forgiveness._ Was he really forgiving Derek for what he'd done? For letting his father die? Stiles wasn't so sure. He'd held onto his anger for so long, he almost didn't know anything else.

He rolled over onto his side, looking down at Derek on the floor. His eyes were closed, the tiny shaft of moonlight from the window was casting a little bit of light onto his features. He looked like he was at peace. He looked younger, like maybe he might have looked before everything, the alphas, Peter, Laura, the fire. _Kate_.

The frustration Stiles felt was overwhelming. He was still angry with Derek for letting his father die, no doubt about that. But deep down, in a place Stiles preferred not to poke too hard, he knew he still cared for – _loved_ – Derek. It made him angry, that after all this time he felt so much for the man sleeping on his floor.

He punched his pillow and rolled onto his back, returning to staring at the ceiling. He couldn't just ignore what was happening to Derek. He wasn't that kind of person, never had been, even though there were times, like now, that he wished he were. Wished he could just shove Derek out the door and tell him to high tail it back to California and never come sniffing after him again. He'd worked too hard to bury his feelings. Now Derek was dredging all of them back up and part of Stiles wished Derek had never shown up.

But the look on Derek's face when he'd asked if Stiles could help him, if he knew what he was and if there was a cure, well, it made a part of the barriers he'd built up around his heart crumble into dust. He knew without a doubt they were going back to Beacon Hills, he just didn't know for how long.

"Stiles? Are you still awake?" Derek asked quietly.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Stiles cursed his heart for skipping a beat. He'd forgotten how much it sucked not to be able to lie. "Yeah."

"What's gonna happen?"

The vulnerability of that question chipped away more of the barrier around his heart. "I don’t know. I need to talk to a few people tomorrow, figure some things out, and I guess once I do, we'll be heading back to California."

Derek turned and sat up to look at him. "You're going with me?"

Stiles winced at the hopeful tone in Derek's voice. "Yeah. Can't put you on a plane alone when you have no real idea who or what you are beyond what I've said. You're too vulnerable. Hell, I don't even know if you can fight. Is that instinct? Or did you lose that ability when you lost your memory?"

And there it was. Because despite how much Stiles felt like he still hated Derek, it would kill him if something happened to Derek when Stiles could have stopped it. So Stiles was getting on a plane, sometime in the near future.

"Okay." Derek settled back down on the floor, pulling the spare blanket Stiles had given him up over his shoulders as he turned on his side. "Thanks Stiles. ’Night."

"Night."

Stiles spent a fitful night, tossing and turning, his sleep ruled by nightmares, images of his father's bloody body, Erica's bloody body, Gerard Argent beating the crap out of him, and Derek looking at him like he had all the answers in the world.

He was groggy when he woke up, whereas Derek looked fresh as a daisy. It made Stiles grumpy. "What are you so happy about?"

"I'm with you," Derek replied simply.

Which of course made Stiles feel guilty; which made him even grumpier. He barely said two words to Derek as they got cleaned up and grabbed some Pop-Tarts for breakfast. When Stiles was gathering up his backpack and making sure he had his phone, Derek spoke, his voice tentative and unsure.

"What should I do today?"

"Well for one thing, check out of that shitty hotel and bring all your stuff back here. I don't know how much you have so um, if it's not too much you'll just kind of have to hang onto it until I get back from what I need to do today. I don't have an extra key and I’m not leaving my dorm room unlocked because some of these shitheads will rob you blind."

"I only have a hiking backpack. I never had much to begin with."

His heart clenched at Derek's words and the fact that he really had no idea just how true that was.

"Okay, um, here," he grabbed Derek's arm and his pen. Quickly he jotted something down. "That's my cell. I have a couple of classes this morning and then I'm gonna meet with my advisor. I should be back mid-afternoon. We can talk about our plans, grab some dinner, and then I'll have to spend the evening doing homework. Do you have anything you can do? I could maybe set up my laptop so you can watch a DVD when I'm not using it."

"I have a book, a couple actually."

"Okay. Good. So, we should go. Do you know how to get to the hotel from here?"

"Stiles, I'll be fine. I know I'm not this Derek guy you know. Or, I am but I don't remember being him. But I function just fine as Norman Eugene. I can find the hotel, grab my stuff and just hang at the coffee shop until I think you'll be back here."

Stiles breathed out a sigh of relief, his eyes sweeping over Derek, taking in his still-drying hair, the too small blue and orange striped shirt Stiles gave him, the gray sweatpants and Stiles’ flip flops. He met Derek's eyes and felt satisfied by the look of confidence he saw, there was no hint of the vulnerability he'd shown last night. Nodding his head, Stiles led the way out of his room, locking it behind him. They walked out together and at the bottom of the steps, they stopped.

"I guess I'll see you this afternoon."

"I guess you will."

Derek turned to go and Stiles watched him for a few seconds before turning and heading off to class.

He spent the first several hours in class and then headed off to meet with his advisor. Dr. Stadt wasn't Ms. Morrell, but he was a pretty good guy. He was about Stiles' height, a full head of curly dark brown hair, full beard, and bright blue eyes hidden behind horn-rimmed glasses.

"Stiles, what can I do for you?"

"Yeah, um, I need to talk with you about taking a leave of absence. Just for the summer semester. I mean, I know it's not required but we'd talked about me taking some classes in order to graduate on time, what with my double major and my minor, but some things popped up after the trial and I need to head home to take care of them. It should only take me a few weeks, but I don't think I can afford to miss a few weeks' worth of classes. I was thinking it might just be better to take the summer off and return for the fall semester, do what I can to catch back up."

"Stiles, I'm really sorry to hear that. Is there anything I can do? Do we need to get the administration involved? Is it something to do with the outcome of the trial or your attorney? Because the school has lawyers that can help in situations like this."

Stiles shook his head vigorously. "No, it's nothing like that. It's just some personal stuff I need to go deal with. Like I said, it should take only a few weeks and then I could be back, but…" his voice trailed off.

"Let me make some calls, I'm sure we can make this happen and then we'll look at what classes you will have taken over the summer and figure out how you'll get them in order to still graduate on time."

His nerves lessened somewhat, Stiles sat back in the chair while Dr. Stadt made his calls. It took a bit longer than Stiles expected but finally Dr. Stadt hung up the phone and sat back in his own chair, fingers steepled under his chin. "Okay, you're all set. You'll just need to file some paperwork with the registrar's office and the financial aid office. Also, housing. I can walk you through all of that. Housing is the most important right now so you can let them know that you will be back and that you want your room for the fall. When you get to financial aid and the registrar, just tell them you need the paperwork to take a leave of absence and that you'll be filling it out with my guidance. Now, let's talk about your classes."

They hashed through his schedule for the next forty-five minutes until they'd finally come up with one that would allow Stiles to graduate on time. He'd have to take several classes during both intercessions and both summers to make it happen, but it was doable.

"Thanks so much, sir," Stiles said, shaking his hand. "I appreciate all the calls and everything to make this work for me."

"No problem, Stiles. Anytime. Just bring that paperwork back to me, we'll fill it out and get it turned in. Make sure I have your e-mail and your cell phone number and I'll give you mine, that way if you need anything, please don't hesitate to call me."

Swallowing over the lump in his throat, Stiles pulled on Dr. Stadt's hand, dragging him into a famous Stilinski hug. "Thanks."

The Dr. clapped him on the back. "Anytime. Take care, Stiles."

Stiles smiled at him, before shouldering his backpack and walking out of Dr. Statdt's office. He glanced at his watch and headed right back to his dorm room, thinking there was a good chance that Derek was already there. He wasn't wrong.

"Stiles," Derek said, standing up, shifting the backpack on his shoulder.

"Hey, you can bring your stuff on up, is that really all you have?"

Derek shrugged as he followed Stiles up the stairs. "I had to travel light. I live light, don't really need much. Gotta laptop, phone, a couple of books and my clothes. That's all I need."

"What about DVDs and stuff?"

A chuckle slipped out from Derek and Stiles didn't even try to stop the flutter it caused in his chest. He wondered if Derek heard it. Pushing the door to his room open, he swept his hand around.

"Well, here you are, of course you were here last night and this morning, but um, now you're here for a while. I guess we should sit down and talk. You want anything to drink?"

Derek shook his head and Stiles shrugged, grabbing himself a bottle of water out of the fridge. He'd stopped drinking caffeine, mostly, unless he was trying to pull an all-nighter or the random Frappuccino with his friends or when he was stressed. With his dad gone and no supernatural shit to deal with, he'd gotten responsible about his meds. Hence, the no caffeine, at least not in his room.

He sat down heavily in the desk chair and Derek sat down on the bed watching as Stiles drained half his water.

"So, we need to get you back to Beacon Hills and I'm not putting you on a plane by yourself. For all I know, you've never been on a plane as Norman and you wouldn't know how to act, not to mention, I can just see you wolfing out if the plane hits some turbulence. And I can't really afford a ticket back, not this close to when we need to fly." He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I'm taking a leave of absence from school so we can drive back."

He held his hand up to stem the protests that he could already see building. "Just hear me out, dude."

"Don't call me dude," Derek replied automatically.

It made Stiles smile and for a brief moment, made all this seem a little less horrible. "I have finals next week, which means I need to study my ass off for them this week. Once I finish the last one, we'll hop in the Jeep and head back to Beacon Hills. There's a few things I can take care of while I’m there, like, save my attorney from having to do those weird e-document signing things. It will take us a several days to get there. Three if we drive super long hours and take very few breaks. So I'm thinking four or even five days is a better estimate, if we want to arrive in one piece that is. I need to call Lydia and figure out what we'll do once we arrive, and I guess we'll go from there. Sound okay?"

"Are you sure you can afford to be away from school that long?"

Stiles waved his hand at him dismissively. "Yeah, that's one of the things I did this morning. I met with my advisor and we got it all worked out. There's some paperwork I have to fill out and I have to actually go and talk to the housing office, which will be a total pain in the ass, but yeah, it'll be fine. I'm gonna have to take classes during the intercessions and over my two remaining summers, but that’s alright."

He watched as Derek frowned, obviously thinking about what Stiles said. "Stiles, what's your major?"

"Behavioral biology and chemistry, with a minor in bioethics," he said, feeling his neck flush and his cheeks heat up. "I was planning on doing my PhD on wolf packs."

His phone beeped before Derek got the chance to respond. Stiles was on the phone texting for over thirty minutes. "Sorry, that was Jess, my lab partner. She's deaf, so we text a lot. She'll probably be coming over to study together at some point." He glanced down at his phone. "I should probably call Lydia, let her know we're coming back, find out what we should do when we get there. I'm thinking I should probably just take you right to the house. I bet the house will smell familiar. Who knows, maybe it'll even jog your memory."

"Maybe," Derek said quietly.

Looking at him, Stiles thought he detected a hint of sadness in Derek's eyes, but Derek's eyes shuttered as soon as he realized Stiles was watching him. There was no way to explain the jolt of unexpected hurt Stiles felt when that happened, so he turned his back on Derek and hit Lydia's speed dial.

"Lyds."

"Stiles."

"I'm taking him back."

"To Florida?"

"No, genius, to Beacon Hills. I have finals next week and then I'm taking the summer off, to drive him back to Beacon Hell. I'll stay long enough to get him settled, make sure he's okay, take care of a few legal things, and then head back here. There's some stuff I can work on before fall classes start up."

"Oh, Stiles," Lydia said softly. "You okay? When are you leaving?"

He could hear her tapping away in the background and knew she was looking at the calendar and checking dates.

"My last final is next Friday. We'll probably leave right after, drive for a few hours, find a hotel and crash and then get a full day's drive in the following day. So probably Tuesday?"

"You should call Allison."

Stiles was silent. It was gonna be hard enough going back to Beacon Hills, last thing he wanted was to reconnect with everyone, but Allison, she was different. He might _have_ to reconnect with her.

"Lydia, do you trust her? I mean, is she hunting again? Will he be safe with her there?"

He had the urge to kick himself, realizing how much he'd just revealed to Lydia.

"Stiles, she's fine. When you hung up on us yesterday, I talked to her at length. She and Derek had some sort of truce they'd hammered out. She was there at the trial the day before he disappeared. Stood next to him and everything."

"So, what, are they friends now?"

"No. A whole world of no. Let's just say, they respect each other."

"What about Scott?"

"Allison and Scott have a separate truce worked out. Different than the one with Derek. I have no idea what the terms are. The only person that might other than Allison is Isaac. She told me he seems to be playing both sides of the fence these days. Peter is another story all together. She and Derek have an agreement about Peter. That's all I know."

"Wow. That's a lot of info, Lyds. Thank you."

"Yeah, well, you owe me a fancy dinner the next time I'm in town, maybe two. I said I wasn't going to get involved in all that crap again. I thought Allison was going to have a heart attack when I started asking questions."

Stiles laughed softly. "You got yourself a deal. Okay. Can you give me Allison's number? As always, you're right, I should call her. Fuck, Lyds, I thought I was done with all this werewolf shit."

"Me too," she said softly.

There was a growl from behind him and Stiles flinched against his better judgment, turning around and giving Derek a sheepish look.

"Is Derek there with you right now?"

"Yes. Where did you think he was?"

"Well, you did kick him out last night. Don't tell me you made up and now you're best buds again," she said dryly.

"No. But we seem to have come to an understanding of sorts."

"Oh, well that's good then," she replied, sounding much too satisfied. "Where are you going to stay?"

"Probably the Beacon Hills B&B. I'll give Mrs. Lehane a call and see if she has a room available."

"She's nice. That place is nice. I approve Stiles, you have good taste."

"You know it."

He could practically hear her rolling her eyes over the phone. "So, um, I should probably go. We need to go get dinner and I need to start studying for my finals."

"Call me, you know, soon?"

"I will."

"Bye Stiles."

"Bye Lyds."

He clicked his phone off and rolled his head, stretching his shoulders. Turning back to Derek, he said, "We should go grab some dinner. I usually just go to one of the places off campus because you know, it’s not institutional food. If I can't cook I can at least try to eat well. That okay with you?"

Silently, Derek nodded his head.

"Great." Stiles stood up, grabbed his wallet, his phone, and his keys, and then headed for the door, Derek hot on his heels. As he locked the door and smiled weakly at Derek, Stiles could only think it was going to be a long two and a half weeks.

The two weeks living in Stiles' dorm room were fairly routine and boring for Norman. Stiles insisted on calling him Derek. That was a minor annoyance, but Norman got the impression that Stiles was an annoying person on a regular basis anyway. He didn't feel like this Derek person Stiles kept telling him about because frankly, he sounded like an unhappy ass that was buried so much in his own man pain that he drove everyone away from him.

Norman liked to think he was a happy guy. He'd been happy in Florida, he'd just gotten tired of nothing smelling familiar or like home. Or if Stiles was right, the morning after the hangover was the first day of his existence as Norman, so he’d never been happy there anyway. He didn't really like to think about it because it made his head hurt.

Speaking of things that made his head hurt, Stiles was the loudest studier known to man. He bounced his leg, chewed on his nails, fiddled on his laptop, hummed, played basketball against the wall with a wad of paper, and was constantly mumbling to himself. It damn near drove Norman crazy.

The only time it wasn't loud was when Stiles' lab partner, Jess came over. She was a tall brunette, with mocha colored skin and green eyes. They studied for over two hours and it was mostly quiet. Norman watched as they sat close and signed to each other, going through equations and reading together. The few times either spoke, it was obvious that Jess was reading Stiles' lips. The few times she spoke, Stiles' eyes focus on her lips and Norman realized that Jess was teaching Stiles how to lip read in addition to working on organic chemistry. When she left, she gave Norman a tentative smile and a quick little wave.

He was relieved when Stiles left for his last exam. It gave him time to look around the room and make sure he had all his stuff packed. He was both excited and nervous about the trip out to California, and not just because it meant being cooped up in a car for four days with Stiles.

When he'd first planned his departure from Florida, he'd marked California as a possible destination. It was obvious he had ties there. Stiles told him he had a Pack, a remaining family member, reasons to go back. He just didn't feel it. He would be perfectly content living out the rest of his life here in Stiles' dorm room, and that scared him almost as much as going to California because Stiles wasn't his biggest fan. He tolerated him, at best.

It was part of the reason he wanted to make sure he was absolutely ready to go when Stiles returned. He didn't want to appear as if he were reluctant to go, even if that was true for a large part of him. He had no idea what he was going to find there. Stiles had assured him he had a house, a family of sorts, and would be welcomed back with open arms; but Norman wasn't so sure.

He wiped his hands on his jeans. He'd never had sweaty palms before, but he did now. Stiles must be rubbing off on him. The kid had sweaty palms all the time. And sometimes he was extra spastic around him. Norman could smell the hints of arousal as well, but they weren't strong or predatory like Amy. No, the scent was light, anxious and questioning, almost fruity even. It was more like an enhancement of Stiles' natural scent, with just an overlay of spice. If Norman were to actually admit it to himself, he would describe it as heady.

They'd been living in each other's pockets for almost two weeks and Stiles never had a date. Norman wondered if he dated at all. When Jess had come over once, they'd worked on organic chemistry together and she shot Norman several curious glances, but Stiles had introduced Norman as a friend from home and Jess had accepted it readily.

She was the only friend he ever saw. He suspected Stiles was hiding from the rest of his friends, or hiding _Norman_ from them. Whatever, it didn't matter, they were leaving as soon as Stiles got back and just thinking about it made Norman nervous again.

By the time Stiles returned, drained and exhausted from his exam, Norman was bouncing off the walls with the anticipation of leaving.

"Dude, I just wanna sleep, for like a week," Stiles complained, lying down on the bed, his arm over his eyes.

Norman shifted his weight, scuffing his foot on the carpet. "Um, you said we were leaving today, that you wanted to get at least three or four hours under your belt."

"Don't worry, we're still leaving, I just need a moment or a thousand to wallow. Don’t mind me."

Stiles flung his arm across his eyes and Norman felt the urge to chuckle, _fondly_. He had no idea where the hell that came from, so he just crossed his arms over his chest and frowned down at Stiles’ supine form.

"I can feel your stare from here. Don't worry, Wolfboy, we'll get on the road soon, I just need a few moments to get my brain back in gear."

Norman went quiet, letting Stiles have his time. After what seemed like hours, Stiles finally sat up and started throwing things in his backpack, looking around the room frantically before shoving his MacBook into a bag and giving Norman a look.

"Okay, I'm good. Lemme do one last check and hit the bathroom, you should too. I’m not stopping every few minutes just because you gotta take a leak. You got everything?"

Something about Stiles' words shot a dart of unease into Norman's heart, like once Stiles dropped him off he was never gonna see him again. His wolf whined and pawed at him as the thought kept repeating itself.

"Don't worry Sourwolf, I'm not gonna leave you in a lurch. I’d never leave you in the hands of psycho Uncle Peter. Not without some guidance. Not gonna lie, everything is gonna be awkward as hell, what with you not remembering and all, and me being persona non grata. But we'll figure it out and once you're settled, then I'll think about coming back here. I have almost four months. Plenty of time."

Norman watched as Stiles methodically went through his drawers, packing shirts and sweatshirts he thought he might need. It wasn’t long before Stiles was standing in front of him, suitcase and backpack in hand. "Ready?"

Was he ready? Ready to go back to what was supposedly home, to what little family he had left? Norman wasn't sure, because right now, all he knew was that Stiles smelled like home. But if Stiles was saying they had to go, then that's what they would do.

He smiled at Stiles reassuringly. "Ready."

"Good," Stiles replied and led them out the door, locking it behind them.

Norman found that riding with Stiles was like doing anything else with Stiles, loud, annoying, and entertaining. It was good, it was distracting, and it kept him from thinking about how his heart was racing in his chest.

"You okay man?" Stiles asked, looking over at him.

Silently, Norman nodded, turning back to look out the window at the scenery passing by. He couldn't tell Stiles he was frightened. He got the impression this Derek person he was supposed to be never got frightened. But Norman was scared to death.

To him, everything looked bleak. He'd left the only life he'd ever known, found the one person that smelled familiar and that person hated him. And now he was being driven across the country to an unknown place to people who knew him but he didn't know. His chest started to hurt and it felt like he couldn't breathe.

He pushed the button trying to get the window open, hitting it repeatedly.

"Oh, yeah, sorry man, that button doesn't work anymore. Is it too hot?"

Stiles reached down and started fiddling with the air conditioning controls. Norman felt the air from the vent start blowing across his face and it helped ease the feeling that he was suffocating, but did nothing to stop the walls closing in on him.

He clenched his hands into fists and then released them, rubbing his hands up and down his thighs. It seemed to help a little bit. The repetitive motion, the friction, and the irritating feeling of dragging his fingernails over the same spots every time, soothed him. He didn't even notice that he'd sprouted claws and was actually digging long trenches into his thighs.

"Hey, Derek, what the hell are you doing?" Stiles shouted, putting on his blinker and pulling over to the side of the road.

Startled, Norman looked over at Stiles whose face had gone white.

"Jesus, dude, shit, are you having a panic attack? Why didn't you tell me? I'm not a complete ass, I would've pulled over."

He reached across Norman and opened the door. Norman just sat there unsure of what to do. Stiles made a flapping hand in his direction. "Go, get some air, I'll be right there."

Norman tumbled out of the car and stumbled over to the guardrail. Within seconds Stiles was at his side, rubbing his back.

"Hey, hey, it's okay, it's okay," Stiles kept mumbling.

But it wasn't. Norman's vision was fading to black, all he could see were two pinpricks of light in front of him.

"Hey," Stiles said sharply. "Don't you fucking pass out on me! I can't carry your wolfy ass back to the car and I am not sitting by the side of the road in," he paused, looking around. "Jesus, I don't even know where the fuck we are, but I know I’m not sitting here waiting for your ass to wake back up. You're having a panic attack. Breathe with me."

Stiles grabbed Norman's hand and put it on his chest. "Feel my chest, breathe with me. In. Out. In. Out. Norman, look at me, look me in the eyes."

Squinting, Norman turned to meet Stiles' gaze, tried to focus on those amber eyes.

"That's good. That's good," Stiles smiled. "Now breathe with me, or focus on my heartbeat or something. Wait my heart's usually pretty fast, maybe you shouldn't focus on that. So just focus on my breathing, breathe with me. Come on. In. Out. In, out."

Norman stared at his hand on Stiles' chest, watched as it moved up and down every time Stiles took a breath and tried to match his breathing with Stiles'.

Slowly, as he concentrated on the rhythm of Stiles' chest, things started to get better. His vision started to clear, the ache in his chest started to lessen and the burgeoning terror started to subside. It left him feeling weak and clammy.

Stiles eased them down until they were sitting side by side on the pavement, backs against the guardrail. Norman could hear the pinging of the Jeep as it cooled. He felt the heat of Stiles' hand where it still rested on the back of his neck, not moving, not rubbing, just there. Comforting. He let his head drop forward a bit and Stiles' hand followed the movement, never losing contact.

"You hate me," Norman said tonelessly. "You're taking me someplace where I don't know anyone."

"You don't know them, but they know you. They're family. _Your_ family," Stiles replied, squeezing Norman's neck.

They sat still and silent for several long moments until Norman rolled his shoulders back and cracked his neck. "I'm ready. I'm okay now."

"You sure?" Stiles asked, uncertainty evident in his voice.

"Yeah," Norman shrugged his hand off and stood up walking back to the car. As they got back on the road, Norman turned to stare out at the passing scenery again. He wondered about this family Stiles seemed so desperate to return him to. He felt nothing for them, had no idea what their names even were. Maybe they hated him. Maybe that's why he left. He glanced over at Stiles who was humming along with whatever music was playing. It struck him then, what Stiles hadn't said back there by the side of the road. Stiles had never denied hating him.

The closer they got to Beacon Hills the more anxious Stiles got. Ever since that episode by the side of the road when Derek had a panic attack, Stiles could feel his own creeping closer. It was taking every ounce of his strength to keep it at bay. And Derek's newfound sullenness wasn't helping any.

He grunted and growled and snapped at Stiles whenever he tried to do anything nice for him. So Stiles just stopped. They ate in silence, they drove in silence, and they slept in silence. The silence was driving  
Stiles crazy.

When they crossed the border in California, Stiles tightened his grip on the steering wheel. He could feel the sweat beading up on his upper lip and across his forehead. He swallowed hard, and turned the music up. He tapped his thumb on the steering wheel and tried to keep his mind on the road and not on the last time he'd been on this road, the day he'd left Beacon Hills with no intention of ever coming back.

"What's wrong?" Derek asked grumpily from the passenger seat.

"Nothing," Stiles replied tersely.

"I can smell your anxiety."

"Yeah? Well keep your nose to yourself. You haven’t spoken to me in four days, why start now?"

"Fine. Don't crash us though."

"Fuck you."

Stiles clenched his teeth and when he saw a sign for a McDonald's at the next exit, he pulled off, pulled into the parking lot, shut off the Jeep and grabbed his phone as he got out. Immediately he dialed Lydia.

"I can't do this," he breathed into the phone as soon as she answered.

"Where are you?"

"Just inside the border of California. We're on I-80 headed toward Sacramento. We'll hit the Five from there and head north. Or maybe take one of the back roads, I haven't decided."

"Are you okay?"

"No Lydia, I am not fucking okay. I'm back here in this hellhole, Derek doesn't remember shit and he stopped talking to me four days ago after he had a panic attack by the side of the road. So no, I'm so far beyond not okay I might actually be circling around back toward it."

She clucked her tongue in annoyance. "I swear, you two are so stupid. When he gets his memory back I'm locking you both in a room until you figure your shit out."

"I'm hanging up now Lydia."

"Stiles, wait. What do you need me to do?"

"I just, what the hell do we do when we get there?"

"You should take him to the house."

"The burnt out shell that pretends to be a house you mean?"

"No, I mean, yes. I mean, they aren't living there, he had a loft in town last I heard, a different one, but you should take him to the house."

"So all his memories can come back in the most painful way possible?"

"Isn't that what you want?"

That hurt. "Jesus, no Lydia. I'm pissed at him, but I’m not sadistic. What the hell do you take me for?"

"Someone who always does the right thing. I'm texting you Isaac's number. Call him, have him meet you somewhere."

Right, Isaac. Out of all the choices, he probably was the best one.

"Okay. I'll do that. Wait, since when do you have Isaac's number?"

"Since Allison gave it to me yesterday."

"Oh."

"Stiles, you've got about three hours left to drive, are you gonna be okay?"

The concern in her voice made his chest ache even more. He swallowed hard over the thick lump in his throat. He turned to look where Derek was waiting by the car. His hands were stuffed into his pockets, the bright blue polo shirt he was wearing looked massively out of place on him, especially with the collar flipped up. The trendy jeans shredded from the panic attack he'd had in the car three days ago, and the boat shoes without socks completed the preppy look that the normal Derek wouldn't have been caught dead in. He was nothing like the Derek Stiles knew. Stiles wondered, not for the first time, if this was what Derek was like before Kate.

"Yeah," he said quietly. "I'll be fine."

They hung up and he pressed the phone to his mouth, thinking. With a final huffed out sigh, he turned back to the car where Derek was waiting.

"Let's get something to eat. We've only got about three hours left to drive. I need to make another call."

"Okay," Derek said, shrugging and walking into the McDonald's.

Stiles took a deep breath, jumped up and down, shook his head, and blew his breath out like a horse. "You can do this. You can do this."

Before he could chicken out, he dialed the number Lydia sent him and waited.

"Hello?"

"Isaac?"

"Stiles?"

"Yeah, um, Lydia said I should call. We're, I mean, Derek and I are about three hours away."

"Okay. Want to meet at the Hale house?"

"You think that's the best idea? I mean, what has Lydia told you?"

"Just that Derek has no memory."

"I'm not kidding when I say he doesn't remember anything. He didn't even know he was a werewolf let alone the fucking Alpha."

"Yeah, Allison said something about how he knew your scent? The scent of Hale house should be familiar to him, make him feel like he's home."

"Wouldn't the loft where he was living be better?"

"We train at the house though, all our scents are there. We don't always hang out at his loft."

"Okay, fine, Hale house it is. We're at a McDonald's just inside the state line. We should be there in about three hours or so. But I’m sure you'll know we're coming as soon as we within smelling distance."

Stiles clicked the phone off and stuffed it into his pocket, running to join Derek in the line. Derek was scowling at the menu when Stiles joined him. "What?"

"Is any of this stuff actually edible?"

"Yes. Get a salad, those are usually good."

"If by good you mean, processed, wilting, and left out too long."

"Whatever dude, let's just get some food and get back on the road. We'll be there in a couple hours."

Derek stiffened beside him but Stiles didn't have time to address it because it was their turn to order. When they sat down, Derek stabbed at his salad until Stiles was afraid he was actually going to break the plastic fork or stab down through the table.

"Hey," he said between a mouthful of cheeseburger and fries. "Are you worried, wait, what the hell am I thinking, of course you're worried. Look, the Pack is your family. You don't have anything to worry about. They're gonna welcome you back with open paws."

"If they're so good, why did you leave?" Derek asked, pinning Stiles with a thoughtful look.

"It's complicated and I’m not staying so it doesn't matter."

"I thought you were staying?" Derek's face got that pinched unhappy look that Stiles attributed to anytime he did something Derek thought was monumentally stupid.

Stiles set his cheeseburger back down on the paper, his stomach churning uncomfortably. "Look, I left for a multitude of reasons with no intention of ever going back. I'm gonna stay long enough that you're settled and comfortable. Even I'm not that much of an ass to abandon you when I'm the only familiar thing in your life. There's some business I can take care of while I'm in town, but once you're back to being," he waved his hand at Derek. "All Alpha-y, I'm going back to school. I have a life there, friends, a future."

"And you don't have that in Beacon Hills?

The question sent a spike of regret lancing through Stiles' heart. "I used to. Before. Well, before a lot of things. Now? There's nothing left for me there."

He saw a flash of hurt in Derek's eyes and dropped his own down to his burger, which had lost all its appeal. "Look, um, take your time, I'm gonna go take a leak and then head out to the car."

Without a word or looking at Derek, Stiles crumbled the rest of his cheeseburger with the remnants of his fries and tossed them in the trash before heading back to the bathroom.

By the time Derek returned to the car, Stiles had the engine running and a new playlist pulled up on his phone, Linkin Park was blasting through the speakers. "Ready?"

Derek gave a quick nod. Stiles threw the Jeep into gear and took off, heading back to the highway.

They'd driven for about fifteen minutes when Derek finally broke the silence.

"I’m sorry."

"For what?"

"For driving you out of your home."

Stiles tightened his grip on the steering wheel, risked taking a glance over at Derek. There was regret and contrition in his eyes and it made something in his gut twist painfully.

"You don't even know what you're apologizing for. Hard to be angry at you when you don't remember why I'm angry."

"But you are. Angry."

Stiles shrugged. "Can't help it. I've been angry with you for so long it's kind of hard not to? Even though you have no idea…" his voice trailed off.

The Jeep was quiet for a moment and then Derek took a deep breath. Stiles rolled his eyes, waiting for the emotional pronouncement to come.

"You don't want to talk about this."

"Got it in one, genius," Stiles replied, the sarcasm heavy in his voice.

"So tell me what I’m going back to."

The change of topic was abrupt but not unexpected. Stiles had noticed that when things got really close to home or too emotional for them, especially him, that Derek would back down and change the subject. It was almost as if he didn't want to cause Stiles any additional pain, despite not knowing or understanding where the first hurt came from.

"Well, Isaac, he's one you turned, probably the most loyal one to you right now. He suggested your old house."

"The one you said burnt down?"

"Yeah. According to Isaac you all train there so it will be full of pack smells I guess."

The car went silent again for just a moment before Stiles barreled on through. "Um, I think your creepy, I mean," he coughed, trying to cover up his slip. "I think Peter will be there."

"He's my only relative right?"

"Yeah, kind of? I said you had a sister, but she left years ago. New York, I think. I don't know how much the two of you talk. As for Peter, um, I don't think he actually lives in Beacon Hills anymore, but I'm sure Isaac would have called him for this."

"Anyone else?"

"Maybe Scott, Allison, Chris, if Allison lets him."

"Scott's an Alpha right?"

"Yes, no, I mean, it's complicated. When I left, you two had an uneasy alliance. He stayed out of your territory and you stayed out of his."

"And Allison?"

"Allison Argent. She's a hunter. Her family, shit, it was her aunt that burnt your house down." Stiles rushed the words out and continued just as quickly. "Things were rough for a while around the time her mom died and afterward. But then you and she seemed to come to an agreement and there's been a truce between you ever since. It's her word that keeps rogue hunters out of Beacon Hills."

"Why would I have a truce with the family that killed mine?"

"Because they're hunters, have been for generations and things are different under Allison. Look, I don't know the specifics okay? You'll have to talk to her about it."

Stiles glared at the road in front of him. He wasn't sure why he was getting so defensive, but talking about Allison made him think about Scott and he didn't want to think about Scott. He really hoped Scott wasn't there.

"Who's Chris?"

"Allison's Dad. He was kind of in charge of things for a while until she took over. He and she are probably the least crazy people out of that whole family. You can trust them but only so far."

Stiles went silent again; his fingers tight around the steering wheel, so tight his hands were starting to ache.

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"For telling me what you know. I can tell there's a lot you don't want to talk about."

Stiles shrugged.

"Anyway. Thank you."

Derek stopped talking then and turned to look out the window and as the minutes went by, Stiles gradually relaxed his hold on the steering wheel until the blood flow returned.

When Stiles felt like he finally had himself under control, he broke the silence. "So, tell me about your life in Florida."

"What life?" Derek asked bitterly. "If I’m to believe you, it's only a shadow, just a dream."

The dig stung and Stiles didn't respond, just kept his eyes on the road and watched the miles fly by faster than he wanted them too.

"I'm sorry," Derek said after a while. "I just, I thought I had the perfect life there, you know? And then I woke up one morning, hungover as hell, no memory of what had happened the night before to get me that way and everything smelled wrong."

"So, do you like have memories of before that night?"

"Yeah. I had parents, a brother and a sister. My parents died in a car crash when I was seventeen. I lived with my sister and brother for a while, went to college, got a degree in Sociology and Gerontology and then got the job as the Activities Director at that retirement community. My memories are happy."

"Where are your sister and brother?"

Derek went quiet. Stiles took a quick look at him, saw his eyebrows furrowed in thought.

"I don't know. I can't remember."

"Huh," Stiles said, flicking the turn signal on. "We're here. Or, well, we're taking the exit that will take us to Beacon Hills. We'll be there in about twenty minutes. Your house is just on the outer edge of town, backed up to the forest. Um, I should probably warn you, or maybe I already told you, but whatever, you don't actually live there. Isaac said you all do training there, which makes sense, you know, it's isolated so you can wolf out and everything. He said it should smell like Pack to you. But you don't live there. You've got a loft in town. The house is still there though, or what's left of it."

Derek was quiet so Stiles rushed on. "So, I was thinking we'd just drive straight there. Let you get out, smell, do whatever it is you do, and then I guess I can drive you to your loft? Or maybe Isaac can –"

"You. Do you still know how to get there?"

"Yeah. Okay. I booked a room and I've got a meeting with my attorney tomorrow morning and I should probably go see Ms. Morrell and possibly Deaton."

"What about Scott?"

"What about him?"

"Didn't you say that he was your best friend?"

"Emphasis on 'was'. I haven't spoken to him in almost three years. We didn't talk much the months before my Dad…anyway, so that's the plan."

Derek didn't say anything in response, so Stiles went back to concentrating on the road and trying to keep the panic that had never loosened its grip at bay. The weight on his chest as he took the last turn onto the road that led right into Beacon Hills was crushing. He was breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth and his grip on the steering wheel had tightened to the point of making his knuckles and fingers white.

"Stiles. Breathe." Derek ordered.

"I'm trying," Stiles ground out through clenched teeth.

"You really don't like it here."

"No, Sourwolf, I don't."

Stiles saw Derek's lips curl up slightly at the old nickname and he turned to look at him. "Do you remember me calling you that?"

"No. It's just funny."

"Oh." Stiles wasn't even going to think about what that tiny bit of hope that had flared up in his chest meant.

He was glad his muscles and the Jeep seemed to know where they were going, because before he knew it they were pulling up in front of Derek's house. He was relieved to see that Isaac was alone. He thought Peter and Scott might have been too much for Derek to handle all at once. They would have definitely been too much for him to handle.

Isaac stood up as Stiles shut off the Jeep but he didn't move off the porch. He waited, his hands in his pockets, staring at them.

"You okay? Smell anything?"

He watched as Derek closed his eyes and his nostrils flared. Then he shook his head. "Not really. Just you and something else that smells vaguely familiar."

"Well, maybe we should get out of the car, see if that changes."

Simultaneously they got out of the car, and Isaac started walking toward them. Instantly, Derek growled and rounded the car, dropping in front of Stiles in an offensive stance. Startled, Isaac stopped, turned his head and bared his neck, a needy whine ripping its way out of his throat.

The sound of it made Stiles' heart ache but it must have been worse for Derek, because Derek looked between Stiles and Isaac, and Stiles could tell he had no idea what to do.

"Go on. That's Isaac, he's your beta and he's asking for his alpha. Shoo." Stiles made a waving motion with his hand.

With one final look at Stiles, Derek loped over to Isaac and crowded against him, burying his nose in his neck. Stiles just leaned back against the Jeep and watched, the knot of tension in his stomach slowly starting to unravel.

Stiles lost track of time while he watched Derek and Isaac doing wolf-bonding things until the sky overhead started to darken. His stomach growled and he looked at his watch, realizing it had been a really long time since lunch. Before he could say anything though, Derek lapped at Isaac's throat and then made his way back over to Stiles.

"You're hungry."

"Yeah, well, you and Isaac have been werewolf-bonding for hours. Do you remember anything?"

Isaac had come up behind Derek and Stiles could see the look of hope in his eyes and watched as it faded when Derek shook his head. He gave Isaac and apologetic shrug.

"No. I mean, this place, smells familiar, Isaac smells familiar. It all smells right as much as my place in Florida smelled wrong. But I don't actually remember it. Does that make sense?"

"Yeah, dude, sadly it does," Stiles sighed in resignation.

"Don't call me dude."

"Well, at least that hasn't changed," Isaac piped up.

Stiles fought the urge to flip him the bird. Instead, he flipped the keys over in his hand. "Look, I need to go get something to eat and check into the bed and breakfast."

"You should stay at the loft," Isaac said.

Stiles and Derek both turned to him in surprise. His face reddened and he shrugged. "There's room, you know, now that it's just –"

Stiles saw the pain as it etched across his face and then disappeared just as quickly. It was only then that he really took in Isaac's appearance. He looked older, less gangly, less baby-faced, and there was a hardness to his eyes that hadn't been there before. Stiles wondered in passing if it was because Derek had disappeared, or if he had gotten that way because of something else.

"Nah, I couldn't do that, I appreciate the offer though. You two should spend the time getting reacquainted."

Derek grabbed his wrist as he went to open the door. "Please?"

Stiles closed his eyes, the pleading, vulnerable tone in Derek's voice was definitely going to get him in trouble because he could already feel his resolve cracking.

"Please? Stiles? You're the only person I feel safe with right now. Sorry Isaac. Please?"

Letting the rigid line of his shoulders slump, Stiles nodded. "Yeah, okay. Um, I'll just call and cancel my reservation. I'm sure she won't mind."

Stiles moved to the back of the Jeep, giving himself the illusion of privacy even though he knew Isaac and Derek could hear every word he said. He dialed up the B&B and spoke quickly with Mrs. LeHane, the owner, explained that he'd run into some old friends and was going to be staying with them instead. She gushed and wished him all the best, and extracted a promise out of him that he would at least come see her while he was in town.

When he finished he dashed off a quick text to Lydia tell her the change and then shut his phone off because he really didn't want to deal with her reaction right now.

He still remembered the way to Derek's old loft, like it was the back of his hand, convenient that the new one was just down the street. Idly he listened to Isaac and Derek talking, Derek telling Isaac all about his life in Florida and Isaac telling him all about his life here. The conversation hit a lull and Isaac met his eyes in the rearview mirror.

"You talked to Scott?"

"Nope."

"You planning to?"

"Not unless I have to."

"So that's how it is?"

Shrugging, Stiles didn't answer, but Derek did.

"I think we did some pretty bad stuff to him," he said softly. "Or at least I did. Leave him alone." His eyes flashed red and Isaac huddled in on himself in the backseat.

Stiles was impressed, even without fully understanding what he is, Derek was able to use the Alpha power to make one of his betas submit.

"What?" Derek turned to look at him.

"Nothing. You just Alpha'd him."

Derek scowled at him. "What do you mean?"

"You did the flashy thing with your eyes and cowed him into submission."

Instantly, Derek's lips turned down and regret colored his face. "Sorry Isaac."

"Don't worry about it Derek, it was nothing."

Even Stiles could tell the hidden meaning under those words and he glanced over at Derek again. Derek was looking at Isaac's reflection in the rearview mirror thoughtfully.

It wasn't long before they pulled up in front of the loft, Derek's Camaro sitting out front. His face broke out into a huge grin and he turned to Isaac. "That your ride? It sure is sweet."

The look in Isaac's eyes when Derek said that made Stiles' heart break. It was as if he was just now realizing the extent of Derek's memory loss and it was hitting him hard. He shrugged. "It's actually yours, but yeah, I've been using it. Didn't want the battery to die or, you know, something to happen to the engine from disuse."

The three of them got out of the car, Derek and Isaac grabbing all the bags, including Stiles'. Silently, Stiles followed them up the stairs to the loft.

Isaac led them to the third bedroom where he dropped Stiles' stuff on the bed. "Figured you could sleep in here, you know, I mean, it hasn't been used in a really long time. Sheets are clean though, I washed them this morning, you know, in case."

Stiles clapped Isaac on the shoulder. "Thanks. Why don't you get Derek settled, I need to call Lydia.  Oh, and call him Norman, because he likes that better."

"Norman. Got it."

Once he was alone, Stiles dialed up Lydia without even reading her text messages. He held the phone away from his ear and when she picked up he was glad he'd thought ahead.

"Stiles Stilinski, what the hell do you think you're doing? I'm calling the B&B right back and rebooking you and you're going to take your stupid ass back over there and claim your room. You hear me?"

He let her rant until she stopped to take a breath. "Lyds, I can't leave him," his voice was soft but firm. "Right now, other than the smell, I’m the only thing familiar to him. I – I keep putting myself in his shoes, thinking about what it would be like to not remember anything but the smell of one person and Jesus, Lyds, I'd never want to let that person go."

"Stiles. I swear on all my Prada if he hurts you –"

"He's not going to hurt me. It's not like that. I still remember what happened, what he _let_ happen, but until he gets his memory back? I need to accept that he's not that person." He clenched his fist together. "Or I just might fly into a rage and never get out of it," his voice choked and angry. "Because why does he get to forget? Why does he get a do-over? Why not me?" he finished quietly.

"Oh Stiles. Are you sure this is what you want to do? My break doesn't start for another couple days. I can't get away until then."

"Lyds, you don't have –"

"Stiles, do not tell me what I don't have to do. You're my friend. Besides, my plane ticket is already bought, first class and I've already rented a car, so don't."

The knot in Stiles chest loosened at her words. "Thanks."

"You're welcome. Now tell me how that hell hole looks?"

Stiles laughed, and proceeded to fill her in on what little bit he saw. They ended the phone call, and shortly after there was a knock on his door. "Stiles?"

"Yeah, Der – I mean, Norman?" Stiles corrected himself for the first time. If he was going to have to accept this was the new Derek, he might as well start using his new name.

"Isaac left. He said there were some takeout menus in a drawer, places that delivered. Wanna come take a look?"

The vulnerable, plaintive tone to Derek's voice cut Stiles right to the core and just like before, he couldn't say no. "Sure, I'll be right there."

When Norman woke up the next morning, it took several minutes for him to remember exactly where he was and what was happening. Everything smelled familiar, but not, at the same time. He could remember the scents but didn't know _why_ he could, nor could he identify what or who they belonged to. It was insanely frustrating. Then he remembered lemongrass and sage, and Stiles, and it brought a smile to his face. He hurried through a shower and bounded into the kitchen to find Isaac there eating some cereal.

"Morning."

Norman's step faltered and he looked around, a bit bewildered. "Morning. Um, where's Stiles?"

"Oh, he left a little bit ago. Said he had some business to take care of and that he'd be back by lunch. I was thinking maybe I could take you to meet someone?"

His heart dropped like a stone. Stiles had left and hadn't even said goodbye.

"Um, he left you a note."

Norman grabbed at the paper in Isaac's outstretched hand.

_Norman,_

_Sorry I didn't wake you, but you needed your sleep dude._

_Got a meeting with my attorney. Be back around lunch._

_Hang with Isaac, you and he were pretty close._

_Stiles_

"He said I should hang with you, that we were close?" Norman asked uncertainly.

Isaac smiled, his eyes free and open, but still showing a hint of concern. He shoved one of the bar stools closer to Norman. "Take a seat. You still like Frosted Flakes?"

"Yeah?"

"Cool."

Norman watched as Isaac got a bowl out of the cupboard and poured some of the cereal in it. He set it in front of Norman with a spoon and some milk. He waited until Norman started to eat before he began to talk.

"You're my Alpha. You made me. You um, you offered me the bite when you found out my father was –" he cleared his throat. "When you found out my father was beating the crap out of me. He was killed by the kanima, but you saved me. I know," he rubbed the back of his neck and Norman watched as the blush of his skin spread across his face and neck. "I know the last couple of years, especially the last few months have been really rough. You were just so upset, all the time, the grief was so heavy in the air it was choking me and I needed space from it. It's why I hung out with Scott so much."

Isaac looked up and met Norman's gaze. "But he's not my Alpha. You are. You always will be. I – I just wanted to make sure you knew that."

The lump in his throat made it hard for Norman to choke down the rest of his cereal.

"I did some research online, I know, that's usually Stiles' area, but someone had to pick up the slack after he left. I learned quickly that Google is my friend. Anyway, I um, was thinking that maybe we could go see Scott? And maybe go to the convenience store because all the articles I read said that sometimes taking the amnesia victim back to familiar places or even traumatic places will jog their memory."

"I don't have amnesia."

Startled, Isaac met his eyes again and Norman tried to explain. "I don't have amnesia. I have a completely different set of memories. I remember growing up and going to school in Florida. I remember getting my degree, the car accident that killed my parents, and I remember having nieces and nephews. I remember all of that. It just doesn't smell right there. Here smells right. Here it smells like home. But I don't remember here."

"Oh. So, maybe while Stiles is here we can get him to do some research?" Isaac offered helpfully.

Norman snorted. "What do you think he's been doing the past few weeks? He mentioned something about some guy named Deaton? Said maybe he could help."

Isaac rolled his eyes. "Maybe, if he ever decides to stop talking in riddles."

Something Isaac said kept rolling over in Norman's head so he put it to voice. "Why the convenience store?"

"Oh, um, it's where the Sheriff was killed. That seemed to be the start of everything. I thought maybe if I took you back there –"

"It might jog a memory? Fine. Let's go there first." Norman pushed back from the counter and took his bowl over to the sink, rinsing it and setting it in the other side. He clenched his fist when he realized his hand was trembling, belying the nerves he was trying to hide.

"I can smell your anxiety, you know."

Norman whirled around, his eyes flashing red and Isaac whimpered. He shook his head. "Sorry. Sorry. I just, Stiles warned me about this. I don't know how to control it yet."

Shaking himself a bit, Isaac gave him a tentative smile. "It's okay. Just gonna take some getting used to, seeing you out of control. You always had so much."

"Maybe that's why this happened. Maybe all that control was killing me," Norman said softly.

"Maybe. Come on, I'll drive."

"It's my car right?"

"Yeah."

"So, I'll drive."

"Do you know how to get there?" Isaac asked.

"No, but you do, so you can give me directions. Besides, if it's my car maybe it will be familiar."

"Maybe." Isaac sounded doubtful.

Norman shot him a wolfish grin. "Good, then let's go."

Climbing behind the steering wheel of the Camaro felt right in a way that nothing else had. He smoothed his hands around the leather wrapped wheel, turned the engine over and listened to it purr for several long moments. The rumble beneath him felt familiar, like something was tugging at his memory.

"Ready?" Isaac said, breaking the spell.

"Yup, just tell me where to turn."

Norman pulled out onto the main drag and followed Isaac's directions until they arrived at the convenience store. Killing the engine, they sat watching customers come and go.

"You would've thought they'd have closed the place down after what happened," Isaac said softly. "But Beacon Hills isn't that big, so here it is, still open. Business was bad for a while, right after, and then again when the trial started, but people forget, they move on. Life goes on."

His palms slick with sweat, Norman opened his door and immediately the smell of old blood and death assaulted him. He was overwhelmed with it, felt like it was crawling down his throat and trying to choke him. He started coughing, gagging and slid back into the car, shutting the door.

"Derek? Derek? You okay?" Isaac asked frantically from the passenger seat.

"Close the door," Norman choked out.

The door slammed and the smell started to dissipate. When he finally got his breath back, he turned to Isaac. "Couldn't you smell it?"

"Smell what?"

"Death."

He started up the car and drove off, they didn't speak again until they were a good fifteen minutes away.

"I'm sorry. I – It doesn't smell like that to me."

"What's it smell like to you?"

"Um, it's hard to explain? But like hot dogs, greasy food, gasoline, unwashed people, strangers. A mix of all of that. You smelled death?"

Teeth clenched, Norman nodded. "Old blood, death, and sadness."

"Oh," Isaac whispered.

Silence stretched out before them.

"You said something about meeting someone?"

"Oh yeah, let me text Scott, see if we can meet up with him. He'll probably be at Deaton's so you can kill two birds with one stone."

"Sounds good. Just tell me where to go."

Isaac gave him directions to the veterinary clinic and when they arrived, there was an old beat up motorcycle parked around back.

"Scott's," Isaac said by way of explanation. "He got it our junior year and held onto it, despite everything. I think it was his way of trying to hold onto something good."

Norman didn't say anything in response, just followed Isaac into the clinic. His heart was pounding, he wasn't sure what to expect. He knew there was some bad blood between Scott and Stiles, even more between himself and Scott, and Deaton was a complete unknown. So when Scott came up and wrapped his arms around him, pounding him on the back and telling him it was great to have him back, Norman didn't know what to do.

"I – I thought you hated me," he stammered out, staring at Scott in shock.

Scott's face colored. "Well, I am still pretty pissed at you, for a lot of things, number one being running off and losing your memory and for pissing off Stiles and making him leave."

Rolling his eyes, Norman huffed out a sigh. "How many times do I have to tell you people, I didn't lose my memory. I have one."

"You smell like magic," a new voice came from the doorway, it sent shivers up and down Norman's spine.

He turned to face the bald-headed man standing in the doorway in a white jacket.

"You must be Deaton."

Deaton smiled and Norman couldn't help but think of the word enigmatic when he did.

"Yes, and you have a distinct odor of magic. So this was no ordinary memory loss." He turned to the other two. "And it's not the work of the Alphas so you can relax. Although, from what you've told me, I highly doubt either of the twins would pull something like that, not with Ethan's relationship with Danny and nobody's seen Deucalion in years."

Instantly, Norman felt the tension in the air decrease. He frowned. "Who are the Alphas?"

"You really don't want to know," Scott answered. "I mean, not now. Let's get you figured out and hopefully get your memory back, and then we won't have to tell you. You’ll know."

"That bad?" Norman raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah," Isaac said softly, casting a glance over at Scott. "That bad."

His chest starting to ache again, Norman leaned back against the counter. "No wonder I lost my memory, with all the bad shit like Alphas, kanimas and by the way what the hell is a kanima? And killing Stiles' dad, why the hell would I want them back?"

"Wait, killing Stiles' Dad?" Scott shook his head. "Is that you think? Is that what he told you?"

Norman could smell the anger starting to radiate off Scott and it made him angry as well. "No, he just said I let him die. Sounds the same to me."

Scott shook his head. "Well, it's not. It's nowhere near the same. There's something you should see. I'll need to make arrangements. Allison's been doing some freelance work for the Sheriff's office, hoping they'll hire her after she takes the exam. She might be able to get us access."

"What is it?" Isaac frowned.

"That video."

"OH."

"Yeah, oh."

Norman's mouth went dry and his palms started to sweat. "I'm not – I don't think I could watch that. Does it show him dying? I don't do well with death."

Three pairs of shocked eyes turned to stare at him and Norman shifted uncomfortably. "I know that sounds weird, seeing as how I work in a retirement community and we have residents dying all the time, but I get close to those people and it always upsets me when we lose one. So yeah, I don't deal well with death, so sue me."

"That's not why we're surprised, Derek."

"My name is Norman." Norman clenched his jaw and glared at the vet, knowing his eyes were flashing red.

Deaton held up his hands in surrender, flicking glances over at Scott and Isaac who shrugged. "Okay, Norman. That's not why we're surprised. We know you as Derek Hale, an Alpha. And although you don't like doing it, you've killed several people for the safety of your pack; including your uncle."

Brows furrowed in confusion, Norman said, "What? Stiles said my uncle was alive. Actually he said my 'crazypants' uncle was alive, as well as my sister Cora."

"He is. He used a spell, Lydia Martin and you, and managed to bring himself back to life. Cora returned for a brief while, but you took her to New York, and she never came back."

Incredulously, Norman looked around the room. "Are you all fucking nuts? It's becoming crystal clear to me why I was enjoying my new life so much. This place is insane."

"Actually, it's been pretty calm the last couple of years. Once we got rid of the Alphas, the Darach, shut down the Nemeton, and finally graduated from high school, things seemed to calm down."

"Really?" Norman raised an eyebrow at Isaac. "What about the robbery that killed the Sheriff?"

"That wasn't supernatural. That was just regular old human scum," Deaton said softly.

Norman shot a glance over to Scott who was busy texting on his phone. "Care to jump in here?"

"Yeah, um, Allison says if you want to see the video we should probably go soon. Stiles is there now with his attorney."

Instantly Norman felt his heart drop and his stomach clench. "What? Why would Stiles be watching the video? He shouldn't see that."

"I don't know," Scott answered, a frantic edge to his voice. "Can we just go there, now? And talk about it in the car? Please?"

Deaton nodded his head. "Go. I'll do some research, now that we know the memory loss was magical I have something to go on."

The three of them piled into Derek's Camaro, Isaac in the front, Scott in the back and with Scott's directions headed off to the police station.

"Scott, what's on  the video?"

"Depends on the video. There's two. The security video shows the whole thing happen but there's no audio."

Norman watched as Scott looked quickly at Isaac in the passenger seat before continuing. "The second is a cell phone vid from someone that was there. It has audio."

Isaac turned in his seat. "Stiles won't be able to hear it."

Scott shifted uncomfortably in his seat and Norman frowned at him thoughtfully. "I'm sure if it was important, Scott would tell me."

He caught the grateful smile Scott gave him in the rearview mirror, but nothing could take away the scent of anxiety and fear coming from the backseat, or the anger and resentment coming from Isaac. It was overwhelming in the small space and Norman was regretting the pass he'd given Scott only seconds ago. He sighed. "Look, I don't know what is on the video that is making you so anxious, but could you give us a hint? Because it's obvious that Isaac here is upset that you're keeping it from me."

"There's some audio that only werewolves can hear because it's too far away and too low for a human ear to hear."

"And?" Norman waved his hand, wanting Scott to continue.

"Look, it's stuff you and Stiles' dad said to each other when he was dying. I figured you wanted it kept private."

"But you heard it?"

"Yes, I was in the courtroom the day they played it. Isaac and I were sitting together."

Norman felt Isaac relax a bit beside him and the tension in the car eased somewhat. "Did Stiles' Dad know about us?"

"About you and Stiles?" Scott asked.

"There was a 'me and Stiles'?"

Isaac turned and gave Scott a dirty look before facing Derek. "Not officially. But we all could tell."

"Explain."

"Your scent when you were around him? It was different, softer or something, less harsh. You always put his safety above your own –"

"Or anyone else's," Scott piped up from the backseat.

"And when he left? You were devastated. I'm not sure you ate right for weeks. And things went downhill from there. It's part of why I hung around Scott so much."

"Yeah, you said that earlier. The heavy scent of grief?"

Norman returned his attention to Scott. "Again, did the Sheriff know about werewolves?"

"Yes."

Norman didn't ask any more questions after that. His gut churned thinking of what he and the Sheriff could have possibly been talking about that would upset Scott so much. Then he remembered something that made his blood run cold. "Stiles can read lips."

"What?" Scott exploded from the backseat. "When? How? What?"

"One of his friends at school is deaf. She's been teaching him sign language and how to read lips. He's not perfect at the lip reading, but he can do enough to get by. How good is the view of our lips?"

"Good enough" Scott muttered. "Plus there's the body language. Stiles is smart, he'll figure it out."

"Then we better hurry."

Norman pressed on the accelerator and they were soon parked outside the Sheriff's department and racing into the building. Allison met them at the front desk.

"Stiles is already here. He's been in with his attorney and one of the deputies for almost an hour now. About thirty minutes ago they sent someone to retrieve the videos from evidence. I haven't seen or heard anything since." She gave Norman a sympathetic smile before crossing the distance and pulling him into her arms.

Awkwardly he patted her back. "Um, do we hug?"

She laughed, squeezing him harder. "Yeah, sometimes we do. I was there the day they showed this in court. Sat next to you in fact. You squeezed my hand so hard I thought it was going to break at one point."

Norman flushed. "Sorry."

Pulling back, she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "It's okay. I don't know what was said, but it made Scott pretty mad. You fled the courtroom, Scott went after you and attacked you on the steps. The next day you were gone. Scott decided that what was on the tape was nobody's business but yours."

"Until now."

"Yeah. But wait, how's Stiles going to know what's being said."

"He can read lips." Scott answered.

Allison looked at him in surprise. "When?"

He shrugged, nodding toward Norman. "Derek says he's got a deaf friend that’s been teaching him."

"Oh. Um, can I get you all some coffee or something while we wait?"

Scott and Isaac both accepted her offer but Norman just couldn’t. She squeezed his arm before disappearing and he started to pace. He'd smelled Stiles' scent as soon as they had hit the doors, the refreshing scents of lemongrass and sage welcoming and familiar. But now, now it was like they were burning, there was an acrid smell to them and Norman recognized it as a mixture of sadness and anger and as the scent turned bitter, he knew the anger had turned to rage.

It scared him. Stiles was already, at best, uneasy around him, but to think he might be the focus of that rage, well it made the beast – _wolf_ – inside him whimper, and made his heart ache for something he apparently had and may never have again. Stiles.

The others must have smelled it as well because Scott was wringing his hands and Isaac just kept looking at Norman with those sad eyes.

It came as no surprise to any of them that they heard Stiles before they saw him. Norman winced when he heard a chair being shoved aside and a door opening and slamming as Stiles stalked through the station. When he got to the front, he glared at Norman, his face red and his nostrils flaring in anger.

"You," he snarled, pointing his finger in Norman's face. "We have things to discuss, but not here. I owe him that. Outside."

Helplessly Norman followed him out into the sunlight, the others trotting along behind him. "Stiles," he started.

Stiles whirled around, shaking his finger again in Norman's face. "No, no you don't get to say anything, you just get to listen."

"Guys, um, maybe you should take this elsewhere?" Allison asked nervously.

Norman risked a quick look around and noticed that she was right, they were already starting to gather a crowd.

"Stiles, Allison's right," Scott reached over and grabbed for his arm.

"Don't touch me," Stiles snarled angrily, yanking his arm out of Scott's reach. "You knew about this and didn't see fit to tell me. So you don't get to say anything either. God, I don't believe you people. Did you think I wouldn't be able to handle this? It's 'Stiles the fragile human' all over again. Jesus, I can't believe this. Where do you get off keeping this from me?"

Norman didn't know what to do. He was completely at a loss. He had no memory of any of this and had no idea what was on the video. "Stiles," he tried again.

"No, you know, I think Allison is right. We should take this someplace else because I'm so close to punching you right now, I need some air."

He stalked off toward his Jeep. Norman and everyone else followed. He climbed into the Camaro and took off after Stiles, following him all the way back to the loft. By the time all of them got upstairs, Stiles was pitching things into his bag and muttering to himself.

"Should've listened to Lydia. Never should have quit the summer semester. I'll be damned if I’m staying here now. You can all go straight to hell. I hope you have fun." He sat down on the bed and put his head in his hands.

"Stiles!" Allison said sharply.

Startled, he looked up at her and his face crumpled. She rushed to his side, kneeling on the floor in front of him, hands wrapped over his. "What was on the video?"

"My dad," he whispered brokenly. "My dad getting shot and bleeding out on the floor of the convenience store." He shuddered and then stood up, knocking her back accidentally. He stalked over to Norman, shoving his finger into his chest.

"I was right. You let it happen. You let him die. But – Jesus," he ran his hand through his hair in frustration before balling his fist up and hitting Norman in the chest. "You offered him the bite! Why didn't you just fucking do it? Why did you give him the chance to say no? You should've just done it you bastard!" He hauled off and hit Norman again, repeatedly until there was nothing left for Norman to do but wrap his arms around Stiles and hold him against his chest.

"You let him die, but worse you let me think that you did nothing. You let me ruin the best thing I had besides him. Why would you do that? Why? You self-sacrificing bastard! I needed you and you just let me go, you son of a bitch!"

There were tears now, angry tears running down Stiles' face. They soaked through Norman's shirt and the skin underneath got damp. He could feel the dampness right over his heart. And it did nothing to ease the ache inside. If anything it made it worse. His head started to throb, his muscles began to feel weak, and his vision started to fade. He tightened his hold on Stiles as his vision faded, images flooding over him.

The pain in his head was so much, worse than anything he'd ever felt. There was too much, too much emotion, too many images, and Stiles, all the fight gone out of him, crying into his chest, his tears soaking through to Norman's skin, right over his heart.

Then everything went black.

Stiles felt Derek go limp in his arms, unable to hold both of them up without the buoyancy of water, he eased them to the floor, settling down with the wall to his back and Derek's head in his lap. His fingers trembling, he pressed them against Derek's neck, feeling for a pulse, relief flooding him when he found it.

"Stiles?" Scott asked tentatively.

It felt like the walls were closing in on him. Stiles reached up, pressing the heel of his hand to his eyes, trying to stave off the panic attack he could already feel coming.

"Stiles?" Allison asked tentatively.

Too much. They were all too much. He needed, wanted – "Get out."

"Hey," Scott said sharply.

"No, it's okay," Allison said softly, her hand on Stiles' shoulder, squeezing. "Let's give him some space."

"What about Derek?"

"I've got him," Stiles said firmly. "Just, please get out."

"Are you sure we should –" Isaac's voice trailed off as Stiles looked up at him and glared.

"Come on." Allison grabbed both their arms, gave Stiles an encouraging smile and they disappeared through the door to the outside.

He waited until he was sure they were gone and then he shook Derek. "What the hell were you thinking?  What the hell did you do? Huh? How the fuck did you lose your memories and why? Jesus, Derek," he shook his head and ran a hand through his hair.

Unconsciously, Stiles started rocking back and forth, not a lot, just a tiny bit of movement. He stared down at Derek's face in his lap. "Fuck, this is what you wanted wasn't it?" he whispered. "I don't think I've ever seen you look so peaceful. That's what you wanted, just peace. Shit, Derek, how did things get so bad?"

He started to wonder what exactly he'd missed the past two years. It looked like Isaac still lived here. There was a stray shirt hanging over one of the chairs at the table that Stiles remembered seeing Isaac wear once. But then he wasn't a werewolf. For all he knew, Isaac left the shirt here two years ago and Derek never bothered to move it. He had no idea where Peter was, nor did he care, but it made him think that maybe Derek had been alone these past two years. Lydia never mentioned him at Stiles' request. Lydia.

"Oh my God, I'm an idiot."

He was reaching to pull out his phone when something in the air shifted. Stiles looked up and was startled to see something shimmer in the air just a few feet away from where they were sitting.

"Derek," he whispered, gently shaking him. "Derek, now would be a really good time for you to wake up. Okay? Um, something's coming. And you're kind of heavy so we're pretty much sitting ducks here so if you could wake up right now that would be great. Derek? Derek? DEREK?"

"Calm down," a female voice said. Stiles watched a female body slowly form out of the shimmering air. "I see my spell has been broken."

"Wait, what? You put a spell on him?" Stiles could feel the rage building up inside him. "What the fuck? What kind of spell? Why? Do you have something against him? Why would you do that to him?" His face felt hot and his palms were sweating. His heart pounded with indignant anger.

"Do not be angry. It was something he asked for."

"Derek. Derek asked to forget everything he's ever known and become an activities director for a retirement community in Florida. And wear horrible plaid shorts, polo shirts, and boat shoes. Yeah, not buying it lady. Try again."

"He asked for a fresh start. Wished for it. I gave it to him. I did not know he was a born werewolf. I would have done things differently. Sent him someplace else, given him a different fresh start."

Stiles frowned at her. "What do you mean 'a different fresh start'?"

"I would have taken his true nature into consideration, given him a place where he could start up a new pack. I can still do that, I just need him to wake up and ask me."

"So let me get this straight, you granted him a fresh start without even knowing what or who he is? Why?"

"I knew he was an Alpha, I didn't know he was a born werewolf. Normally, this spell can change a bitten wolf back to human. And yes, I did, because he was in pain. His despair, his loneliness, his regret, it called to me. It was so overpowering, so sharp, it made me hurt. I had to ease it. A fresh start was the best way."

"But really? An activities director? In Florida?"

She smiled, her purple eyes sparkling, dark hair shimmering over her shoulder. "A fresh start means no ties, and nothing like his old life."

"Well, that was certainly it then," Stiles replied dryly. And then everything slotted into place. Her mysterious appearance right when Derek needed her. Derek making a wish, the wish coming true in ways he never intended. He remembered Derek warning the pack about them years ago. "Fuck, you're a Djinn."

She beamed at him. "Yes."

"Huh, you're unlike any Djinn we've ever encountered."

Her head tilted and she frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Most of the Djinn we've run into were malicious assholes."

"I am sorry that has been your experience. I am not like the others."

"That's for sure. So um, what happens now?"

"You tell me," she smiled at him. "You broke the spell."

"Wait, what? How did I break the spell?"

"Your tears."

Another frown. "My tears? How did you – wait, were you watching?"

"No, I just know how one can break my spells. This one has only two specific ways it can happen. The person would have to wish, truly wish to return to their old life, or from the tears of someone who truly loves them. Since you're here, I’m guessing the latter."

"So with a werewolf, their mate? Can their mate break the spell?"

The woman grinned, a dimple appearing in her cheek. "If said werewolf's mate truly loves them, then yes. But being a werewolf's mate isn't like what you read about online or what you see in movies. There are choices involved, it isn't destiny or some imprinting thing, and it’s much more organic and fluid than that."

"Can a werewolf change mates?" Stiles asked, his brain working overtime.

She shrugged. "I don't know. You'd have to ask him that." She tipped her head to Derek who started to move in Stiles' lap.

Instantly Stiles' attention shifted from her to Derek. "Derek?" he whispered. Stretching out a trembling finger, he stroked it gently down the side of Derek's face, along the curve of his cheekbone and down the line of his jaw. "Derek?"

"Stiles?" Derek asked, his voice raspy from being unconscious.

Relief flooded through Stiles and he bent over Derek, hugging Derek's head to his chest. "Oh my God, don't you ever fucking do that to me again, you hear me? I'm not kidding. If you do, I'll get Scott to kick your ass, or I don't know, maybe I'll even get Creepypants Peter to do it. Jesus, you scared the shit out of me."

"Stiles?" Derek struggled to sit up but Stiles held on, his arms wrapped around Derek's neck. "Stiles, let go."

"No," Stiles mumbled into his neck, even as Derek sat up, dragging Stiles with him until they were sitting upright and Derek's neck was bent at an awkward angle.

Derek sighed and Stiles squeezed tighter before the woman cleared her throat, Stiles having forgotten they weren't alone. He slapped Derek on the chest with the back of his hand. "A djinn? You let a djinn grant you a wish? Are you crazy? What the hell were you thinking? You even told us your mom warned you about them! You know they are never on the up and up. There's always a trick. She made you a damn activities director in Florida wearing horrible clothes."

"I can send you back, only this time I'll take into account that you were born, not bitten," she inclined her head apologetically.

"No," Stiles said angrily, pushing away from Derek and standing up. He pointed his finger at her. "No, there will be no fresh starts, no whammies, nothing." He turned back to Derek, his arms crossed. "Tell her."

Derek just stared back at him and Stiles couldn't read the look on his face. He turned to the Djinn. "How would me being a born werewolf affect the spell?"

Stiles threw his hands up in the air and started pacing, muttering to himself about stupid werewolves and their stupid troubles, wondering why the hell he bothered anymore, and then remembered that he hadn't bothered in two years and that's why they were here.

He turned to Derek. "Please don't," he pleaded softly.

His eyes flashing red, Derek turned to Stiles. "Why not?"

A multitude of reasons raced across Stiles' brain and he discarded all of them, focusing on the one thing he thought might convince Derek not to. "Because I know what you did for my father. I know he refused and I blamed you. I've never been more wrong in my entire life." He paused to take a quick breath. "And it became something else that just made your life shitty. I want to make up for it and I can't do that if you forget who I am. Your pack needs you, you might not think they do but they do. Lydia almost broke her vow of silence to me when you disappeared. I had no idea at the time, but yeah, looking back now, I understand. Jesus, Derek, why did you let me blame you for my father's death for two years?"

Stiles could feel the hot rush of tears behind his eyes, two years of pain, hate, anger, and regret. "You let me go when I was at my lowest, when I needed you the most and you let me think such horrible things about you? Why?"

He watched as Derek's Adam's apple moved up and down when he swallowed. Derek looked away, his eyes dropping to the ground. "I wanted to turn him. I knew how devastated you would be if he died. It hurt," he clenched his fists. "It hurt inside to think about how much you were going to hurt. I begged him to let me turn him and he refused, asking me to look after you instead. For a brief moment I thought about turning him against his will, just for a split second."

"Why didn't you?"

"If he'd wanted it, I would have done it in a heartbeat. I would have risked you hating me forever because I turned your Dad, because he would have been alive. But if I'd turned him against his will? Not only would you have hated me, but you would have never forgiven me, and I couldn't live with that."

The enormity of everything made Stiles' head swim, he clenched his fists in his hair, twisting it, starting to pace the floor again. "I don't, I can't, it's too much –" his voice trailed off and his heart pounded. He rounded on Derek, "You did all that for me? And then I just left you," Stiles voice broke right along with his heart. "You knew, you knew how I would feel, how angry I'd be that he died, and yet you did it anyway and you never told me."

His mind was reeling and his heart was aching. "I need to sit down."

Stiles slid down to the floor, his back against the wall, and his head in his hands.

Derek turned to the Djinn. "I don’t think I'll be needing that fresh start right now."

She nodded toward him. "As you wish. If you ever need me again, you know how to find me, Alpha Hale."

With those words, she disappeared, leaving Stiles and Derek alone for the first time in over two years.

The pain, confusion, and anger coming off Stiles was overwhelming. The enormity of it made Derek want to stagger back, leave the room because it was too much. But if it was too much for him, it was more than too much for Stiles. He crouched down in front of Stiles, placing his hand on Stiles' knee. Instantly the veins in his arm turned black and Stiles flinched away from him, breaking the connection.

"Don't," he said sharply.

Stubbornly, Derek moved his hand back into place and although Stiles glared at him, he didn’t make him move it a second time. He kept his hand there for several minutes until Stiles whispered a 'thank you'. Derek took his hand off and moved beside Stiles, his forearms resting on his knees.

"Did you ask for her to come?"

It took Derek a second to realize what Stiles meant. "No. I didn't go looking for her if that's what you're asking. I'm not gonna lie and say I wasn't looking for a fresh start. In fact, Peter mentioned something about a fresh start shortly after the trial started. Said after the trial was over, we could leave Beacon Hills, find someplace new."

A horrible thought reared its ugly head in Derek's mind. Miserably he turned to Stiles. "You don't think Peter found her, do you?"

Stiles shrugged. "Maybe. But then why would he have been the one to report you missing?"

Relief washed over Derek and his heart slowed down again. "Yeah, you're right."

"So what was it like? In Florida, I mean?"

"Good. At first. At least I have memories of it being good. But then one morning I woke up with the hangover to end all hangovers and I couldn't remember how I'd gotten it in the first place. And everything seemed off. Things smelled wrong, my skin itched, like it didn't quite fit, and the bright colored polo shirts and hideous madras plaid shorts didn't look right. I rode a bicycle to work. And I remember loving it all but for some reason I just didn't anymore. There was something missing and then I got so upset over all the new smells that I started shifting and broke my kitchen table."

Derek went quiet, picking at a loose thread on his jeans. "I called it 'the beast'. My wolf. I didn't know what else it was. I kept hearing this voice in my head, thought I was going crazy." He laughed bitterly. "Little did I know it really was a beast."

"Don't say that," Stiles said angrily, shifting to look at Derek. "It's not a beast. Do you have any idea how many times you saved my life? Too many to count." He raised his hands in emphasis.

"I was so lost," Derek whispered. "And then out of the blue there was a familiar scent, or at least part of one, and I knew I had to find the person the scent belonged to. Knew that if I did, they would explain what was going on, fix me."

"And you found me and I treated you like shit." Stiles ran a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry. I – we –" he sighed. "Things were pretty bad when I left."

"I remember," Derek said quietly.

Stiles huffed out a bitter laugh. "Yeah, my Dad bled out in your arms while you begged him to let you turn him. Why didn't you tell me asshole?" He punched Derek in the arm. "Jesus, Derek."

A laugh burst out of Derek and it shocked him. He tried to stop but he couldn't, the laughter just kept coming until tears were streaming down his face and Stiles was laughing with him, the two of them leaning against each other, holding each other up. When it finally subsided and Derek's chest was heaving with spent emotion, Stiles nudged him. "So…um, what do we do now?"

"I don't know. Do you still hate me?"

"I don't know. I mean I've spent the last two years hating you, blaming you and even with the facts staring me in the face it's hard to let go of that, yanno? I mean, I want to, I do, I just don't know how?" he looked up at Derek.

"I know," Derek said, resigned to the fact that Stiles might never forgive him completely. "Not exactly in a good place myself, considering I let a genie grant me a wish."

"Um, I believe she was a djinn."

Derek just raised an eyebrow at him.

Stiles flapped his hand impatiently between them. "Minor differences, mostly semantics, they're both mischievous and thrive on causing mayhem and leaving chaos in their wake, one is just worse than the other and by worse, I mean more malicious. Either way I'd say you got off easy. She could have made you a baby again, forced you to grow up all over again. Or made you a woman, or hey, she could have made you a dog." Stiles snorted. "That would have been hilarious! 'Here Derek! Come here, boy.'"

"Shut up," Derek said flatly, stifling the grin that was threatening to open up all over his face at the two of them sinking right back into familiar banter like no time had ever passed and neither of them had ever hated the other.

"Whatever," Stiles said, rolling his eyes.

They both fell silent and Derek took a deep breath. "I think," he started out slowly. "Maybe we just take it one day at a time? I mean, if you want to, that is."

Silently, Stiles nodded. "I want to, I mean, yeah, that's probably a good idea. We should do that, the one day at a time thing. We've both had a ton of shit thrown at us all at once. Last time it was this bad was with the Alpha Pack. And I’m completely fried tonight. I couldn't make a decision about what to eat let alone figure out how to get past what happened between us. So, can we talk more tomorrow?"

"Sure," Derek said, desperately trying to ignore the whining of his wolf and the sinking of his heart. He forced a smile to his face, suddenly glad Stiles wasn't a wolf and had no idea how much he was about to lie.

"Take all the time you need, and if you decide in the end that you still want to leave everything behind, I promise I won't stand in your way." The words were barely out of his mouth and the wolf inside him howled in pain.

"Thanks," Stiles said in a surprised voice. "That means a lot to me. But dude, I think you're jumping the gun a little. One day at a time, remember? You just got your memory back and I'm not hopping back into my Jeep." He stood up, dropping a hand down to help Derek up as well. "I should probably get some sleep." He patted Derek on the shoulder and walked out of the room.

Derek stared at the empty hallway long after the light under Stiles' door went off. He went into his bedroom and looked around, really seeing it for the first time. It was devoid of all personal stuff. It struck him that he couldn't really remember having any, and then his eyes were drawn to the chest of drawers. Slowly he walked over and opened the top drawer. It was full of pictures.

His breath caught in his throat and his heart clenched painfully in his chest. He reached in and pulled the entire stack out. Derek walked over to the bed and sat down, the frames in his lap. The one on top was a picture of Stiles. He'd been caught unaware, laughing, happy.

Derek remembered exactly when it had been taken. It was during everyone's senior year, long after the Sheriff had found out about werewolves. There'd been a cookout and Stiles had been laughing at something Danny said and Lydia had snapped the picture on her phone. She'd immediately sent it to Derek and a few days later, this framed copy appeared in his bedroom. It was the last happy picture anyone had of Stiles. Three months later he'd disappeared.

Swallowing hard, Derek made his way through the whole pile of pictures, his family, the Pack, everyone. It made his chest ache and he didn't even know he'd been crying until he saw a drop land on the glass right over his mom's face. Angrily, he swiped the errant tear away and barely resisted the urge to throw the pictures across the room, shattering them just like his heart had been shattered.

That was when he heard it. Stiles whimpering. In a flash, the pictures were in a pile on the bed and Derek was outside Stiles' door, listening.

The whimpers were louder now and he could hear Stiles thrashing in the bed. He wanted nothing more than to go in and make sure Stiles was okay. He even had his hand on the doorknob but stopped, unsure whether he would be welcome or not.

"Please, no," Stiles muttered. "Just don't, please Der. Please."

At the sound of his name, Derek's heart stuttered in his chest.

"Stay," Stiles pleaded. "Please."

Derek clenched his fist. The desire to barge in and fix whatever was wrong was an actual physical need. His wolf whined and pawed inside him, pushing at him to go to his mate, to help him, fix him, and make him better.

"Don't leave me."

The words were all the permission Derek needed. Quietly he opened the door, pausing to look at where Stiles lay tangled up in the sheets, sweat making his skin shine in the moonlight. Stiles moved restlessly, his hands gripping the sheets as he kicked his legs, continuing to beg Derek not to leave.

Gently, Derek sat down on the bed, reaching out a trembling hand to brush the sweat-soaked hair off Stiles' forehead. "Shh. Not going anywhere. Right here," he whispered.

Instantly, Stiles stilled, his movements, his words, everything. His face evened out, relaxed, and his breathing slowed down. Derek closed his eyes and listened as Stiles' heart slowed back down to its normal rate. When he opened them, Stiles was looking at him. He jerked his hand away but Stiles was just as fast and wrapped a hand around his wrist. "Don't."

Derek tentatively put his hand back on Stiles' forehead, stroking his hair. Stiles shut his eyes and pushed into the touch, a soft sound of contentment slipping out.

"I may not feel ready to deal with this yet but my subconscious apparently has other ideas."

The muscles under Derek's hand tensed as Stiles frowned.

"I'm still pissed at you for being such a damn self-sacrificing bastard. I still don't know where we stand or what this means for either of us. And I’m not leaving school. I've worked too hard and have too much invested to even think about that."

He went silent for a moment but Derek waited him out, remembering the look on Stiles' face from before, knowing that it meant more was coming; he only had to be patient.

"But you left again. The Djinn, she came back, offered you a new fresh start, a better one, one tailored for a born werewolf and you took her up on it. You left me. Again."

The pain in Stiles' voice was so thick and sharp that it felt like a wolfsbane bullet tearing through Derek's chest. Stiles stretched his arm up and grabbed Derek's free hand, threading their fingers together.

"Watching you leave in my dream was almost as painful as watching them wheel out my Dad's body covered by a sheet."

His words hung in the air, the implication of them heavy between them. The grip he had on Derek's hand tightened to the point that a normal person would have been in pain. "I can't lose you again. So whatever this is, we're gonna have to figure it out. I can't leave and bury my head in the sand again, trying to forget that this ever existed. It'll kill me if I do."

Derek nodded but remained silent.

"So this one day at a time thing? I'm willing to try it. But whatever we do, it's gonna be slow as fuck. Too much has happened and I think we're both going to have to prove to the other that we aren't going to run when it gets hard and ugly. Because running is something we both have down to an art."

Hope rose in his chest as Derek nodded again.

"No, you don't get to be the silent broody type this time. You're going to have to use your words this time, Derek. Promise me. Promise me you're going to give this a try, that when it gets ugly and I fuck up and you want to wring my neck you're not going to seek out the first Djinn that shows up and disappear on me. Because if that happens, so help me I will hunt you down like a fucking dog."

Snorting, Derek rolled his eyes and Stiles laughed sheepishly. "Sorry about the dog joke, but the rest of that I was completely serious about. I mean it. If you bail on me…" his voice trailed off.

"I won't. I promise." Derek let his eyes flare red as he raised their joined hands to his lips, kissing each one of Stiles' knuckles. "I won't run when it gets hard, when you piss me off, when I fuck up and decide I don't deserve you. I promise, I'll stay. We'll talk. We'll figure it out. One day at a time." He swallowed hard, feeling his heart pound, because he wanted the same thing from Stiles. "Can you promise me the same thing?"

Stiles let out a shuddery breath and squeezed Derek's hand. "Yeah. I mean yes. I won't run out on you again. When I think you're being an idiot and I fuck up and shoot my mouth off, I'll stay. We'll talk. I'll even let you shove me into some walls to get your point across. We're gonna do this. One day at a time." He pulled at Derek's hand, yanking him down onto the bed beside him, curling up against him. He let out a tremulous breath. "Did we just get werewolf married?"

Laughing, Derek nosed against Stiles' neck, the scent of him calm and soothing. "No, idiot."

Shakily, Stiles rested their joined hands on Derek's chest. "Ok. Not sure I'm ready for that, yet."

The word yet resonated in Derek's ears and he couldn't keep the grin off his face. But for Stiles' sake, he kept it out of his voice. "Go to sleep, Stiles. We'll talk more in the morning."

And Stiles did.

Morning came and Stiles found himself alone in the bed. He stretched his hand out and the side Derek had been sleeping on was not only vacant but cold. Shutting his eyes tightly, Stiles tried to fight against the sinking feeling in his chest, the way his stomach tumbled over itself and the way all the hope he'd started to feel the night before went whooshing out of him like a deflated balloon.

Stiles rolled onto his back, arm thrown over his face as he muttered to himself. "Stupid. Stupid. What the fuck was I thinking?"

His mind raced. His first thought was which professor to call first to get him reinstated for the summer semester instead of taking it off. The lawyer didn't really need him here and if Derek was gone again, well, he wasn't fixing him again.

_Burn me once, shame on you. Burn me twice, shame on me._

He bumped the fist he'd made onto his forehead as if he was literally trying to knock sense into his own head. "Jesus," he muttered.

Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he sat up, elbows resting on his knees, his head dropped forward in defeat.

"Stiles?"

He whipped his head around at the sound of Derek's voice. Derek was standing in the doorway, a Starbuck's tray in his hand, holding two cups of coffee. Nervously, Stiles licked his lips, his heart jack-rabbiting in his chest.

Derek's eyes narrowed, his nostrils flared, and Stiles barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the intrusion.

"Why do you smell upset?"

"Because I thought you'd left again, asshole," Stiles blurted out, clapping a hand over his mouth, his eyes widening in surprise. "Sorry, um, shit, I didn't, fuck," he sighed, stopping.

Derek's head dropped, a little of the light in his eyes dimming. "I guess I deserved that," he let out a sharp chuckle.

"What?" Stiles stood up. "No, no, you didn't. I'm being an asshole. It's just – "

"No, I did. You're right. This will take time." He looked back up at Stiles, a half-smile on his face. "I just went to get you coffee. Next time I'll leave a note?"

The hopeful tone in his voice hit Stiles right in the gut. It was vulnerable and open, just like when Derek had found him when he was Norman. He put his most encouraging smile on his face. "Yeah, a note would probably be good. Not used to worrying about someone else. It's – a, it's been awhile."

He winced at the hurt and regret that flashed through Derek's eyes, briefly turning them red. "No, that's not what I meant, I'm not, Jesus, I really do suck at this." He huffed out another sigh. "Um, can we start over?"

Derek quirked an eyebrow at him and Stiles shrugged. "Um, good morning. Missed you when I woke up, did you go get coffee for me?"

A happy laugh burst out of Derek and relief washed over Stiles. Just maybe they could get back on even footing. Derek strode forward and handed Stiles his coffee. He took it gratefully and closed his eyes taking in the aroma.

"Nectar of the gods, damn this smells good. Which blend is this?" He took a sip. The bitter taste of it exploded over his tongue and he could already feel the caffeine working its way through his blood. He groaned and took another scalding sip of it.

"Blend is a mix," Derek answered him softly.

"A mix?"

"Yeah, um, mine, I mean, I told them what to put in it, costs extra but it's my favorite."

"They do that?" Stiles asked incredulously.

Derek smirked, his eyes flashing red. "They do for an Alpha."

"Whatever." Stiles rolled his eyes and took another sip of his coffee. It really was good.

They drank their coffee in silence. As the caffeine finally worked its way to Stiles brain, he realized Derek was very much dressed and he was so very much not. He felt the blush work its way across his chest, up his throat, over his face, and all the way to the tips of his ears.

"Um, I think, I'll just, um, go hit the shower." He grabbed his bag and bolted from the room, heart pounding.

The bathroom door clicked shut behind him and he slumped against it, hanging his head. Things were so far from normal between them and his dick was a big fat traitor. Stiles felt like he was back in high school, with his big unrequited gay crush on Derek, while he constantly walked around with a chubby.

Frustrated, he laid his clothes on the toilet, skimmed out of his boxer briefs and stepped into the shower. Ducking under the spray, he let the warm water run over his head as he tried to sort out his thoughts. Even if his dick was perfectly happy to forget the last two years had ever happened, Stiles wasn't. And he wasn't just going to jump into the sack with Derek no matter how much his dick wanted to do that.

Maybe taking the rest of the semester off hadn't been the smartest idea after all. Originally he'd done it because he wasn’t sure how long it would be until Derek was fixed. But now that Derek was Derek again, there was really no need for Stiles to stick around.

As he got out of the shower and dried off, the Djinn's words came back to him. About the tears of someone that truly loves the person being able to break that particular spell. Fuck, he and Derek really did need to talk. About a lot of things.

He wandered into the kitchen in a white button down shirt, sleeves rolled up, jeans, and his bare feet poking out from the bottom. He found Derek at the stove, cooking.

"You cook?" Stiles blurted out.

"Yeah, apparently I do. Something I learned while I was in Florida."

"Oh."

The silence grew heavy in the air. The only sound was the bacon popping in the pan.

"We should –"

"Stiles, I think –"

"You first." Derek said, jerking his chin at Stiles.

Stiles took a deep breath in and slowly let it out. "We need time and space, I think. Um, did you hear anything the Djinn said while you were out?"

"What? Why? And no."

"She kinda, maybe said…" He ran a hand through his hair. The desire to bang his head on the table was almost overwhelming. "The reason the spell broke was because my tears soaked into your skin."

Derek frowned. "Okay. Why were you crying? And why would that break the spell?"

Stiles watched as Derek slid bacon onto a plate and put it in the oven to warm while he popped some toast into the toaster and cracked a couple eggs into the pan to fry.

"Can a werewolf change mates?"

The egg in Derek's hand shattered and he grimaced as he washed it off and poked at the eggs in the pan looking for shells. "Stiles? Are you okay? Because you're more scattered than normal this morning."

"Sorry, I just, can they?"

"Yes? I guess. I mean, it's not that theatrical imprinting crap they had in that one movie?"

"Twilight?"

"Yeah, that one. It's not like that. I’m not sure I understand all of it because I was too young and didn't care about that stuff when my parents – " his shoulders stiffened and a frown crossed his face before he continued. "We recognize people that would make good mates. But there can be more than one."

"What do you mean recognize? Like by scent? Like how you found me?"

"Yes. Your scent was familiar to me, it smelled like home, like," he scowled as if it was actually painful to force out the words. "Like a mate would smell."

"How do you know which one is the right one?" Stiles asked, leaning forward as Derek slid a couple of fried eggs onto his plate.

Derek shrugged. "I don't know. Date them? I guess? See if they're compatible, like any other normal person and if they aren't go our separate ways until someone else interesting comes along?"

"Huh, sounds like normal dating, only with enhanced smelling."

Derek didn't respond, just slid a plate of toast between them before finally joining Stiles at the island with the plate of bacon in his hand.

"My tears broke the spell because apparently somewhere, deep down, I truly love you," Stiles whispered out before spearing a bite of egg and chewing it rapidly.

Derek stopped chewing, staring at Stiles long and hard enough Stiles was afraid he might actually stare a hole right through him.

Stiles waited until Derek finally looked down at his plate and pushed his egg around with his fork. "I don't know what to do with this. Enjoy it, because for once, Stiles is at a loss. I mean, we never, not even back then, I mean, there was tension, nobody would deny that, and there was lots of mutual life saving, but we never, I never, you never –" He took a breath. "I guess it makes sense though, considering how hurt, and angry, and betrayed I felt, you know, when my Dad –"

Stiles leaned back on his chair. "It was only you, there at the end, well, except for the girls, and maybe Isaac, but Scott was wrapped up in being an Alpha, and it's not like I had friends lined up down the block, it was just you guys. And we were hanging out there so much toward the end, movies, dinners, games. There were times I thought maybe, but then nothing happened and I didn't want to ruin what we had and, you know, there's you with your stupid face and your stupid body and there's me. Flaily, uncoordinated me. So, yeah. But then my Dad, and the pain, and the leaving. And now…" his voice trailed off.

"Now I find you because I tracked your scent and some Djinn tells you about feelings you thought you'd buried too deep to ever find again."

"Yeah," Stiles breathed out a sigh of relief. "Yeah."

Derek's hand comes down on his shoulder. "You don't have to figure it all out right now. We have time and I meant what I said last night. Even if you figuring it out means you never come back…"

But Stiles could hear the longing in his voice, the bare despair at the mere idea of losing Stiles forever and it made his throat get tight. "That's not gonna happen," he replied, his voice thick with regret. "You're not the only one who has to earn trust back. I disappeared on you too."

"Stiles –"

"No," Stiles held up his hand, stemming Derek's protest. "There's enough blame for both of us to share." He paused for a moment, thinking. "I think we should date. You know, do the dating thing. I mean, that is, are you even into guys?"

Derek rolled his eyes. "Stiles, I tracked your scent from Florida without having any idea who you were. My wolf practically went into convulsions of joy when we found you. I think it's safe to say I'm into you."

"So, I mean, would you want to? Date?"

"Stiles, are you asking me out on a date?"

"Um, it depends?"

"On what?"

"Would you say yes?" Stiles chewed his lip, trying not to let hope overtake him.

Without any hesitation, Derek leaned over and wrapped his hand around the nape of Stiles' neck, pressing their foreheads together. "In a heartbeat."

A breath of relief whooshed out of Stiles but then his heart skipped when Derek spoke again.

"On one condition."

"What?" Stiles asked, his heart pounding.

"You finish school."

"Oh thank God," Stiles grinned. "Done. I was actually gonna tell you, I should probably see if I could head back."

Derek pulled away, his face stricken.

"No, not today. My finals are over. It's officially summer break. But I had planned on taking classes this summer, but I told them I was taking it off instead. I was thinking I should probably call them, and see if I can change my schedule back. That way, I can finish my degree on time, and you know, we can date. Long distance. But date. Unless you don't want to do the long distance thing, which is totally cool –"

"Stiles. It's fine. Finish your eggs. Call the school."

Something inside Stiles' chest loosened and he relaxed back onto the chair again, smiling as he finished his eggs. He and Derek traded shoulder nudges and elbow jabs until the plates were clean and Stiles was on the phone with his advisor.

Two hours and numerous phone calls later, Stiles had firmed up the plans to head back to school before summer classes started. He slid his phone into his pocket and rocked on his heels.

"So, that's that. I head back to Maryland at the end of the week. Shit, my Jeep, I drove us out here! Fuck, why didn't I think of that."

"Stiles."

"Crap, I guess, if I leave tomorrow," Stiles muttered to himself. But he didn't want to leave tomorrow. Because Derek. "I can get there in time. I guess we'll have to start doing the long distance thing a little sooner than we thought," he looked over at Derek helplessly.

"Stiles. Book a flight back. I have money."

"OH my God, you would do that?" The offer floored Stiles.

"Yes. Can you live without the Jeep for a few days?"

Um, yeah, I guess? I mean, I have friends that could drive me places if I needed them to. Jase and Val both have cars. They could take me to the store when I get back. My place is on campus and my classes are all within walking distance, so I won't need to drive to classes. I'll have to call Jase, see if he can pick me up at the airport."

His mind started racing, thinking of any place he might have to drive that first week back when his brain finally caught up with Derek's words and his forehead wrinkled up in confusion. "What's gonna happen to my Jeep then?"

"I'll drive it out to you. Maybe we can have a not so long distance date, and you can show me around –"

"Introduce you to my friends." A grin grew on Stiles' face.

"If you want," Derek said softly, but Stiles heard the hope in his voice.

"Yeah, I want," he reached over and squeezed Derek's hand. "Then what, you'll catch a flight back?"

"Yeah. Maybe stay a couple of days, rest up, and fly back."

The knot in Stiles' chest eased and his shoulders started to relax. "Okay. Okay. This could work. This could work."

Stiles was quiet for a minute, lost in his thoughts, glancing up when Derek cleared his throat. "Do you want to go back to the bed and breakfast?"

His heart thumped painfully in his chest. "Are you asking me to leave? Throwing me out?" And Stiles hated the vulnerability in his voice.

"No," Derek's eyes flashed red. "No, I'd rather," he closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and reopened them. "You're welcome to stay here. I just, you said you needed space. I was trying to give you that. I'd be more than happy to pay for your stay."

"Jesus, Derek, no, I mean unless you want me to, I'd rather stay here then at some fancy B&B that probably has never even heard of curly fries."

"But –"

"When I said I needed space, I meant, I don't want us jumping into the way things used to be. We need to get to know each other, who we are now, because neither one of us is the same person we were two years ago. We both have a shit ton of baggage that would probably be enough to set a few therapists up for a really nice retirement in the Bahamas. And your territory is broken. You need to fix it."

Derek opened his mouth in what was an obvious attempt to protest what Stiles was saying, but Stiles just frowned and pointed his finger. "No, you know I’m right. Do you even know where Scott and Isaac are right now? Or Peter?"

When Derek shook his head no, Stiles continued. "An Alpha without a Pack is what? An omega?"

"No."

"Whatever. You know what I mean. You're stronger with them. Let's just see how it goes okay? I'll finish school, you get your Pack in order and in the meantime, we'll date."

"So does your offer still stand?"

Stiles rubbed the back of his head in confusion. "What offer?"

"The one where you asked me out on a date? Because if it does, I'd like to start on the dating thing right now."

The heat suffused Stiles' skin and he felt the tips of his ears turn red. "Um, yes, I guess?"

"Good. I'll be back and ready to go by seven."

Derek started for the door and Stiles trailed after him. "Wait, where are you going?"

"To work on my Pack." Derek flashed him a cocky grin and was out the door.

Derek lay in bed staring at the ceiling. He could hear Stiles breathing just down the hall. He wasn't asleep, his heartbeat was too fast and he was moving restlessly in the bed. Derek suspected he was going over the evening in excruciating detail, analyzing everything.

Overall, Derek thought the date had gone well. There'd been some fumbling over who held the door and who paid and they'd both ended up laughing about it. And at the end of the evening they hadn't kissed, it was way too soon for that, but Stiles had tilted his head, baring his neck, letting Derek scent him. The wolf inside Derek had almost done a backflip in happiness. It was a start and that was what was important.

Now all he had to do was stop thinking about the fact that Stiles was leaving at the end of the week.

He punched his pillow and turned over, trying to sleep. Stiles fell asleep long before Derek did.

The week went by much too fast for Derek's tastes or his wolf's for that matter. They'd had two more 'dates' as Stiles called them, and Derek’s meeting with Scott and Isaac had been amicable. Both were interested in re-establishing Pack ties, under certain conditions that they all had yet to figure out. Scott asked about Stiles and Derek gave him the bare minimum of updates because Stiles wasn't ready to talk to Scott, let alone see him. The flash of pain Derek saw in Scott's eyes made his wolf whine in pain and Derek promised Scott he'd talk to Stiles.

Lydia came home and Derek spent one entirely too painful afternoon being interrogated by her and enduring some horrific threats that included stiletto heels. He promised her that not only would he not hurt Stiles, but also he wouldn't do anything as stupid as letting a Djinn grant him a wish ever again. She seemed satisfied, if the calculating look on her face was anything to go by. She kissed him on the cheek and said 'see that you don't.' And that was that. The rest of the time she spent with Stiles. Derek was convinced that one day the two of them would take over the world.

Contacting Peter was the hardest. He'd called him right after his memory returned to let him know he was back, and told him about the Djinn. Peter had laughed, the asshole. Fortunately, that conversation had been brief. He had to talk to him again, though, and wasn't so sure how this call would go. He waited until Stiles had left to meet up with Lydia and Allison for a final lunch before clutching at the phone and dialing up his Uncle.

"Derek, to what do I owe this honor?"

Derek rolled his eyes. "Stiles is leaving tomorrow. He's flying out and I'm driving his Jeep back for him and flying back."

"Oh?"

"Scott's in charge while I'm gone. He may not claim you but he's agreed to be responsible for you while I'm gone."

"Aww my wayward wolf has finally come into his own. Fine. I don't plan on causing any trouble. Although, if you've got the name of that Djinn, I wouldn't mind a fresh start myself."

"Peter," Derek growled in warning.

Peter huffed out a sigh. "Look, I'm not going to cause any trouble. I know you still have issues with me –"

A bitter laugh escaped from Derek.

"I'm glad Stiles came back. You were miserable without him. The last two years were hellish. Maybe with him back you'll stop beating yourself up."

"He's not back. I just said he's going back to school."

"But he's not disappearing like he did last time, is he?"

"No," Derek replied.

"So, progress. Are the two of you going to talk?"

"Yes."

"Good."

Derek sighed. And if it made life easier, safer, and more convenient for Peter, then Peter was all for it.

"Look, I'll never be able to make up for Paige, or Laura, or Lydia, and I can't say that I care to try. Because I don't. But it doesn't mean I don't want you happy or want good things for you. You're my nephew, my last living relative outside of Cora who doesn't speak to either of us."

Surprised to say the least, Derek wasn't sure how to respond, so he just muttered a soft thank you.

"You're welcome. Call me when you're back in town."

Peter hung up and Derek was left staring at the phone in confusion. After a moment, he shrugged, and went back into the loft to pack up the last of his things for the trip. He was thinking about rebuilding the old house. If he were serious about getting his territory back in order, he would need a big house, with rooms for the entire Pack. He glanced over at his old drafting table. He'd buy supplies and get started on it when he got back.

He lost himself in the packing and before he knew it, Stiles was back and packing his own small bag of things as well. Derek's wolf whined the entire time. Once Stiles was finished and the car loaded with both their belongings, Derek was an emotional, jittery mess.

"You okay?" Stiles asked, worry etched on his face.

Derek nodded stiffly, suppressing everything the wolf was feeling.

Stiles rolled his eyes. "Really? I thought we were going to try to get better at this talking thing. Even after two years of not being around you I can tell you've barely got your wolf under control."

"It's fine." And instantly Derek knew it was the wrong thing to say by the way Stiles' eyes went hard and his lips thinned out into a firm line. He sighed. "Yes. It's my wolf. It doesn't want you to go. I'm having trouble," he paused, closing his eyes because it actually pained him to admit this. "I'm having trouble controlling it."

"Oh." Stiles replied. "OH," his eyes got big. He licked his lips nervously and Derek clenched his hands at his sides. "Um, okay, how big of a problem is this going to be?"

"I told you, I'm fine."

"Really? Because you've grown claws and they are digging into your leg leaving trails of blood behind. Now, you want to tell me the truth this time?" Stiles glared at Derek, arms crossed over his chest.

"I am fine," Derek replied through clenched teeth. "I understand and accept the fact that you're leaving. My wolf doesn't."

"Okay. Well, isn't your wolf part of you?"

"Yes."

"So?" Stiles quirked an eyebrow.

"So." Derek retorted flatly.

"So…Is. This. Going. To. Be. A. Problem?" Stiles carefully enunciated each word.

Derek shifted his weight uncomfortably. He hated feeling vulnerable. This whole thing with Stiles was new and tenuous and he didn't want to do anything to fuck it up.

"Derek?"

"I don't know. Okay? I told you my wolf thinks you would be a good mate. It wants to stake its claim before you leave so nobody else will while you're gone. It's driven by instinct not human logic or emotion. It doesn't understand why you have to go or why we aren't just getting right to things. It just knows that it wants you. That's all. I can control that but our goodbye should probably be brief, as opposed to long and drawn out."

"Okay. Would it help, if, you know…" Stiles' voice trailed off and Derek could smell the air turn acidic with nerves and anxiety.

"What?"

Stiles reached up and unbuttoned the shirt he was wearing, pulling it to the side and baring his neck and collarbone. He turned his head leaving his neck open and vulnerable.

Derek's mouth went dry at the sight. He wanted to bury his nose in it, suck up all of Stiles' scent so he could remember it until he saw Stiles at the end of the week. He wanted to leave marks on the pale skin, bruises, bites, so everyone would know Stiles belonged to him. "Stiles," he rasped out, his throat tight and parched with need. "What are you doing?"

"Derek, I didn't hang around all of you for three years and not learn something. Plus, I've been studying wolf behavior for the past two years at college. Your wolf needs to scent mark me. I'm letting you. It. Whatever. Just do it."

"Stiles," Derek hung his head, taking a couple of deep breaths through his mouth. Stiles' scent was so heavy in the air he could taste it, and his wolf was pawing at him, desperate to get to Stiles. "You don't know what you're asking, what you're unleashing."

"Pretty sure I do, dude. Now come on, scent me up. We still have some packing to do and then I need to eat, I'm starving."

When Derek hesitated still, Stiles spoke up again, frustration clear in his voice. "Look, we agreed we'd be honest and that we would have to start trusting each other again. This is me, trusting you. You have to trust that I know what I'm doing. No biting though. I draw the line at teeth."

"I might not be able to stop at just scenting," Derek warned.

Stiles pulled his shirt open even further. "Like I said, just no teeth. Scent away, wolf boy."

Swallowing hard, clenching his hands into fists, Derek took a tentative step forward and the wolf took over. He buried his face in Stiles' neck, breathing in deeply the familiar mixture of lemongrass, sage, apples, and white roses. It washed over him along with a calm reassurance that only came with Stiles' scent and with Stiles himself.

His tongue darted out for a quick taste, and aside from a slight jerk and a nervous giggle, Stiles remained still. Salty goodness burst over Derek's tongue and a greedy moan slipped out. He wrapped an arm around Stiles' back, pulling him in close as Derek opened his mouth and sucked.

Stiles let out a whimper and his hand found Derek's arm and latched on. Blunt nails dug into Derek's skin, but he didn't pull away. If anything he pressed closer and that tore a needy sound from Derek's throat. He licked up the side of Stiles' neck until he was sucking up another mark right under Stiles' ear.

The heady smell of their scents mingling and the arousal in the air made Derek's head foggy. Stiles' grip on his arm and the warmth of his hand on Derek's back didn't do anything to help clear it either. He knew there was something he should be doing. He opened his eyes, forcing the wolf back down.

"Oh shit," Derek drew back from Stiles in horror. "Oh Stiles, I’m so sorry, I couldn't –"

Stiles looked at him in confusion. "What? I said you could scent mark me."

But Derek wasn't listening because he couldn't tear his eyes away from the marks littering Stiles' throat. "But I –" he started out and backed away from Stiles. "I’m sorry."

"So, your wolf feels pretty strongly about this," Stiles said softly, stepping up to stand next to Derek.

"I'm sorry."

Stiles laughed, but Derek could hear the nervous edge to it. "Look maybe you should –"

"No, you are not going to do this. Remember?" Stiles asked, turning to face Derek now. "Communication. Talking. We didn't do it and that's what got us here in the first damn place. So your wolf wants to claim me, do you?"

Clenching his teeth, Derek met Stiles' gaze head on. "Yes," he said tersely.

"Huh," Stiles said softly before going silent.

The silence stretched out long enough that Derek's eyes skittered over Stiles' face and neck, where the marks sat like a collar. The darker shade of each bruise was in bright contrast to the pale skin of the rest of his throat.

"Do you see me leaving? Running away in horror? I knew what I was doing when I bared my throat to you, Derek. I'm not stupid. I didn't lose all my werewolf knowledge in the two years I've been gone. We are still taking things slow. But that doesn't mean I’m not willing to reassure your wolf every once in a while." He turned to meet Derek's eyes, quirking an eyebrow up. "How does your wolf feel now?"

"Smug," Derek answered in resignation.

"Better? About letting me leave, I mean?"

Frowning Derek thought for a moment before nodding his head quickly. Stiles clapped him on the shoulder. "Good. Now take me someplace and feed me, I'm starving and I've got a long day ahead of me tomorrow, as do you."

Dropping Stiles off at the airport the next morning was one of the hardest things Derek had done in a while. His wolf was clearly unhappy again, although pleased that its scent and marks lingered on Stiles. Stiles hugged him and Derek closed his eyes, breathing him in. "One week big guy and then you can renew your scent all over again."

Nodding quickly, Derek picked up Stiles' suitcase and carried it to the counter for him. He listened absentmindedly while Stiles got his bag checked. All too soon they were heading toward security and Stiles was leaving.

Stiles reached up and cupped Derek's cheek. "I'll see you in a week."

With a wave, he turned and disappeared into the crowd. When Derek couldn't smell him anymore, he practically ran out to the car and got right on the road. His wolf wanted to run, stupidly thinking it would make better time than a car, but Derek shoved the wolf back down and drove with dogged determination until he was exhausted and had to find a motel.

It took him just under three days to make it across country. Stiles just rolled his eyes when he opened the door. "How many tickets did you get, Sourwolf?"

"None," Derek answered flatly, secretly pleased at the use of the old nickname.

"My lab partner Jess just left a little while ago. We finished our lab for the week, so we'll have the rest of the week and the whole weekend to ourselves."

"Good."

Stiles just shot him a glare and Derek shrugged. The scents of strangers all over Stiles made his wolf restless, angry.

"Don't worry, by the time you leave, I'm sure this whole room will reek of you and your possessive wolf."

That sounded like the best thing ever to Derek, although he would never admit it.

"Make yourself at home. I've got some reading I need to do. There's some leftover pizza in the mini-fridge if you want it. We can make a food run later," he was interrupted by Derek's stomach grumbling. "Or now,” he added with a chuckle.

"You stay, tell me what you want, I'll go get it."

So Stiles rattled off some food choices and Derek left him to his reading.

That night, Derek lay on the floor, arm folded up behind his head, staring at the reflection of the slant of moonlight on the ceiling.

"Oh my God, would you just get up here. I'm never going to get to sleep with you down there brooding so loudly. Jesus, Derek."

Frowning, Derek could hear the frustrated sigh that slipped out of Stiles after his rant. "I don't want to –"

"Take advantage? Dude, I know. Look. I have an eight am class tomorrow and I need to get some sleep. Get your butt over here and let your wolf satisfy whatever weird need it has so I can get some sleep."

Hesitantly, Derek sat up and made his way over to where Stiles was holding the covers up in invitation. He joined Stiles on the bed in silence.

"No funny business," Stiles warned, his finger pointed in admonition, his eyes sparkling with amusement. When Derek nodded solemnly, Stiles rolled his eyes, turned on his side, and pushed against Derek. "Go ahead, I know you want to spoon."

Derek did as Stiles asked and sure enough, he was soon calm enough to fall asleep.

Stiles spent the next day in and out of class while Derek spent it absentmindedly scent marking Stiles' entire room. When classes were over, Stiles walked in and wrinkled his nose. "You scent marked everything didn't you?"

Derek gave him a sheepish look and Stiles just grinned and shook his head. "As long as you didn't pee on anything. You didn't do that did you?" His face looked alarmed at the prospect.

"No, idiot."

"I don't want to know, do I?"

"Probably not," Derek replied flatly.

"Right. So I'm gonna shower because you're taking me out on a date. Our first official date. The one where you can start wooing me and we can start from square one, pretend like we don't have a history, and start learning about each other all over again. Figure out where you're taking me."

"Wait, why am I the one taking you?"

Stiles just shot him a withering look and grabbed his shower stuff and left.

It didn't take him long and Derek was just putting a clean shirt on when Stiles returned. Derek's nostrils flared and the clean fresh scent of Stiles was almost enough to derail his plans for the evening.

"Where are you taking me?" Stiles asked, bending over to tie his shoes.

"What's your favorite restaurant?"

"Sully's."

"Then that's where we're going."

Stiles beamed at him and Derek returned it, his wolf happy at being able to please its mate.

Sully's turned out to be a Mexican place with bright tables, bright walls, and the best margaritas in town according to Stiles. Derek just enjoyed listening to Stiles tell him everything that had happened to him since he'd left Beacon Hills, barely taking time to breathe or eat. Before he knew it, they were walking back to Stiles' dorm room, the date winding down.

There wasn't that awkward shuffling feet and delaying at the door because Derek was actually staying with Stiles, but once the door closed, the tension in the air ratcheted up about a thousand percent. But Stiles nudged at Derek with his shoulder before dragging out his laptop and queuing up a movie for them to watch. They fell asleep to the credits of _The Avengers_.

Before Derek knew it, it was early Monday morning and time for him to leave. He crowded Stiles against his door, burying his face in his neck, snuffling and trying to get every last bit of scent he could.

"I don't want to go," he mumbled.

Stiles brought his hands up and cradled Derek's head. "I know."

The hands that fisted in the back of his shirt told Derek that Stiles didn't want him to leave either. He turned his head and kissed the side of Stiles' neck, sucking up one last mark, his wolf excited at the way Stiles' breath hitched. Instinctively, he dropped his hands to Stiles' ass and pulled him in close. Stiles shifted until he could press a kiss to Derek's lips. The first one they'd had. It was soft and tender and full of promise.

Derek squeezed the muscles under his hands. A surprised gasp burst out of Stiles' mouth only to be swallowed up by Derek. It settled into a satisfied moan when Derek took the opportunity to slide his tongue into Stiles' mouth, seeking his mate’s very essence. He'd give anything to slowly strip Stiles' clothes off and worship every square inch of his body. Judging by the way Stiles' fingers were now digging into his back and the slow roll of his hips against Derek's thigh, Stiles felt the same way.

Breaking the kiss to trail more kisses along Stiles' jaw, Derek paused when Stiles spoke.

"Don't want you to go," he confessed into Derek's neck.

The words made Derek's heart leap in his chest and he tightened his hold on Stiles. They could do this, the long distance thing. It would work, it _had_ to work or he would go insane.

Instantly, Stiles pulled back, hands holding onto Derek's shoulders, speaking as if he'd read Derek's mind or maybe Derek had actually said the words out loud. "You won't. We'll talk every day, phone, email, texts, whatever and um, I'll send you my shirts? You know, after I've worn them? Will that help?"

Silently Derek nodded and Stiles smiled. "We can do this," he said, echoing Derek's thoughts. "Just, um, I don't know, hold my place for me?" His voice was uncertain and Derek could see the hope competing with the vulnerable look in Stiles' eyes.

"Definitely," he said, his voice husky with desire and regret.

Stiles pushed closer one last time, mashing their lips together, the kiss desperate and needy this time. "Shit, I have to get to class," he sighed, resting his forehead against Derek's. "Text me?"

"Every time I stop," Derek promised.

Stiles smiled happily and kissed him one final time. Derek's eyes fluttered shut until Stiles pulled away from the kiss. When Derek opened his eyes, Stiles was grinning at him, eyes sparkling with happiness. "Be safe."

And then he was gone, shouldering his backpack and heading off to class, leaving Derek to stare after him.

_S,_

_Home Safe._

_D_

*******

_D,_

_Thx 4 letng me no. Call me._

_S_

Stiles smiled as he thumbed through those old texts. Those two texts had led to daily ones, which had blossomed to several times a day. They had finally graduated to phone calls and some sporadic e-mails when Stiles complained he was getting texting thumb. Derek told him there was no such thing. Fucker, there totally was.

Stiles had classes through that first summer and after encouragement from Derek, he worked through the next Christmas break as well. A drunken New Year's Eve phone call devolved into Stiles trying to initiate phone sex with Derek and failing. He was so embarrassed he didn't talk to Derek for two days.

That was when Danny hooked Derek up with a laptop. Derek Skyped him while he was studying and Stiles almost fell off his chair.

"Dude, you're on Skype!" Stiles shouted.

Derek glared at him. "Don’t call me dude. And you haven't talked to me in two days, I was worried."

Stiles frowned. "Why were you worried? I was fine."

"Because –" Derek huffed out an exasperated sigh.

Stiles felt his face heating up. "Sorry, after New Year's Eve, I was just, you know," his voice got soft. "Embarrassed."

"So you thought not speaking to me was the best way to handle it?" Derek asked flatly, his eyebrow raised in judgment.

"Hey, don't give me the judgey eyebrows of doom. It was a thing okay?" Stiles protested feeling the heat spread down his neck.

"Well, don't do it again," Derek ordered.

"Since I failed at it so spectacularly, you can bet I won't," Stiles replied, hating the bitter edge that had crept into his voice.

"You're an idiot," Derek said. "I meant the not talking to me for two days thing. Not the," he paused as if trying to figure out what to say. "Not the other thing."

"Don't worry, I won't be trying it again, not anytime soon, probably not ever. Wait, what?" Stiles sputtered. "Are you, did you just, do you wanna try it again?" he asked incredulously.

Derek dropped his eyes and Stiles would swear on a stack of bestiaries that his cheeks pinked up. "Maybe, not now, but maybe."

Stiles barely resisted fist punching the air, but his smile grew wide. "Good to know. Good to know. So…"

They'd Skyped for over two hours that night and three weeks later, Derek initiated phone sex. Stiles came so hard he almost passed out.

With the phone calls and Skype, Stiles thought they might be able to survive the separation. Sometimes there was an ache in Stiles' chest and all he wanted to do was get in the Jeep and drive back home, especially when he decided to take classes again the following summer in order to facilitate graduating early. It was the right decision because it would get him home faster, but even without werewolf senses, he could feel Derek's disappointment and loneliness over the phone.

He asked Derek to come out but apparently a whole hoard of trolls had decided the Preserve would make a good home for the summer and the entire pack was busy trying to convince them otherwise. Therefore, Derek wasn’t able to visit, and Stiles couldn’t go home. The only good thing that came out of it was Derek contacted a wolf preserve just south of San Francisco and put in a good word for Stiles. By the time fall semester rolled around, they'd agreed to sponsor Stiles' final independent study and offered him a job upon graduation. It would be a bit of a drive but it would be worth it to be able to work in his field and still be relatively close to home.

Because he had been so busy, time flew by. He'd finished his last final late last night and had just finished packing the Jeep. Stiles slid his phone back into his pocket, opened the door to his room and looked around. It was hard to believe he was finally going home, after all this time. The bed and walls were bare; the chest of drawers was empty as was the closet. The only signs that he'd lived here at all were some stray pieces of tape on the walls and a couple of bent hangers in the trashcan. Giving the room a final once over, he shouldered his backpack and walked out, letting the door close behind him.

The drive back to Beacon Hills was long. Actually, that was an understatement. It was hellishly long. According to Google, it would take forty-two hours, that's if he didn't stop to eat, drink, sleep, or take a piss. Which, as much as Stiles wanted to get home, wasn't happening.

He planned to take it somewhat easy, driving about eight hours a day, which would get him there in just over five days.

Stiles got there in four.

The gravel on the road to the Hale house crunched under the tires of the Jeep. Stiles' heart felt like it was in his throat, while his stomach felt like it was in his feet. He swallowed convulsively, trying to rid himself of the feeling that he was about to lose the In and Out burger he'd eaten about two hours ago.

Coming here first had been Lydia's idea. Stiles didn't have a place to stay. The B&B was full. He wasn't going to stay with Scott, Allison, and Isaac, especially not with a baby on the way. Lydia wasn't due back for another few days, and no way was he staying with Danny. Danny was still with Ethan. Stiles was happy for them, but Ethan was not real high on the list of people he liked. Aiden was even more of a no-go, but he was going to school out of state.

Scott and Derek both had mentioned some new pack members over the phone, but Stiles would rather sleep in the Jeep in the dead of winter than stay with some strange wolves, pack or not. So, that left, sleeping in his Jeep, the sleazy motel on the outskirts of town that rented rooms by the hour, or Derek's place. He'd texted Derek earlier about his arrival time but had gotten no response.

Stiles looked up at the new house and his jaw dropped. Derek had sent him some drawings but had been extremely cagey about actual pictures and now Stiles understood why. Pictures would never have done the place justice.

Silently, Stiles got out of the Jeep and shut the door, his gaze never leaving the front of the house. It was a two-story stone front house, with wood trim. It had a wraparound porch, white shutters and a blue door. It wasn't in the exact spot as the old house, it was closer to the woods, and there was a wildflower garden with some younger looking pine trees where the old house used to be. Stiles squinted because it looked like there might be a bench or some kind of stone seating area there as well. It made his throat clog up and his heart ache.

He swallowed hard and started walking toward the front door. He didn't see the Camaro but then he remembered Derek saying something about a new car. There was no sign of anything though, and no sounds either. Tentatively, he walked up the steps, his hand trailing over the railing as he did. There was a placard just to the left of the door, with a picture of a wolf and the words _Hale House Est. 1865_ burned onto it. With shaking fingers, Stiles reached up and traced the words and numbers.

Slowly, he walked the length of the porch. If Derek were here, he would know Stiles was here. When he didn't appear, Stiles had to assume it meant he wasn't here. He shot off a quick text to Lydia.

_Nobody here. Do I wait?_

_S_

He walked all the way around to the side of the house and then around to the back. The large backyard butted up to a wooded area with a creek that ran right along the edge. There was a brick oven off in the left back corner of the yard right where the creek widened, with at least a whole cord of wood stacked next to it. Stiles turned back to look at the house.

There were French doors on one end of the porch that looked like they opened into the kitchen and sliding doors on the other that probably opened into a living space. The doors flanked a huge picture window that obviously looked right out into the woods. He bet the view was breathtaking. His phone pinged and he pulled it out to see Lydia's reply.

_Key's behind plaque._

_Go inside._

_< 3 _

_Lyds_

That made Stiles heart pound even faster. Licking his lips nervously and wiping his palms on his jeans, he walked back around to the front of the house. Carefully, he moved the plaque aside and sure enough, there was a key in a slot on the back of it. Gingerly, he pulled it out and put the plaque back in place. The key was heavy in his hand. He felt as if he were intruding, like maybe he should sit down in one of the wooden rockers on the porch and just wait.

But the wind kicked up, a few snowflakes started to fall and Stiles shivered. It was cold outside and it was either wait in the Jeep or go in the house. So, Stiles took Lydia's direction and quietly slipped the key into the lock, turned it, and pushed the door open.

The door didn't make a sound. Stiles stepped into the foyer and closed it quietly behind him. The house felt empty and still smelled new. In fact, he closed his eyes and could still detect just the faint hint of sawdust.

Looking around, he could see it was an open floor plan. He could see straight through to the picture window at the back of the house. Off to his left was the kitchen and a dining area with a table that looked like it could seat an army. Just ahead was a staircase that led to the upper floor, and off to his right was a small room that was lined with bookshelves, a couple of cozy looking chairs, and a nice fluffy rug. He wanted to go deeper into the house, but again, this wasn't his place, and he didn't want to intrude.

"Derek?" he called out.

There was no answer.

He waited for several minutes, just standing there trying to decide what to do, before making up his mind to at least bring in his laptop and his backpack. He went back outside, grateful that the few snowflakes he'd seen were nowhere to be found now. Grabbing his overnight bag, his laptop bag, and his snack bag out of the Jeep, he locked it up and went back into the house.

He toed off his shoes by the door and went into the library. Setting his stuff down by one of the chairs, he glanced around again, trying to decide what to do. His phone dinged as if Lydia had read his mind.

_Explore the house, dumbass._

_Derek won't mind._

_< 3_

_Lyds_

She was right; he knew that. Derek knew he was arriving today, had known it for weeks. Not to mention the text Stiles had sent earlier telling him he was almost home. But he still felt weird about being here alone. He left the library and went into the kitchen. It was spacious, all stainless steel and granite, so many cupboards and so much counter space it made his heart thump painfully in his chest at the image of Derek cooking for the pack. He walked around the table, his fingertips trailing over the backs of each chair, picturing everyone sitting here, eating, talking, living.

The warm rush of tears behind his eyes was unexpected and he swiped hurriedly as an errant one spilled over and ran down his cheek. He walked out of the kitchen and back into the family area. There were two huge chocolate colored leather couches, a large flat screen TV mounted on the far wall, and built-in media storage units that were full of books, DVDs, and even a few old CDs. He could almost hear the joking and the laughter, as well as smell the popcorn from pack movie nights.

This was what he wanted for Derek, all those years ago. A home, a family, a place for him to love and be loved in return. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he didn't even try to stop the tears that spilled over now. He especially didn't try to examine the cold feeling in the pit of his stomach. The feeling of being left out, being left behind, the icy feeling of regret.

He left the room before his emotions got the best of him and made his way over to the stairs. His hand on the railing, he looked up, took a deep breath, and took the first step. The house was a lot bigger than it seemed from outside. When he got to the second floor, he wasn't surprised to see seven doors lining the hallway and a small seating area just off to the left of the stairway.

Not sure which door to choose first, he decided to start at the far end of the hall. He pushed open the door and the smell of leather and pine hit him so hard he had to squeeze his eyes shut. He had to take another deep breath and will his heart to not burst out of his chest. _Derek_. This was Derek's room. Even to his human nose, the smell was so familiar that Stiles wanted to just roll around in it until it was all he could smell.

The focal point of the room was the large picture window on the wall facing the woods. The wall also had French doors that led out to a private porch. A king size bed made out of some sturdy wood stood off to the side, flanked by a dresser and a night stand fashioned out of the same wood. Another flat screen TV was mounted on the wall opposite the bed and a door was just to the left of the TV.

Inexplicably drawn to the door, Stiles opened it and found a media room with another large picturesque window. There were two desks. One had a top of the line desktop computer and enough equipment to power a small country. The second desk was empty, almost as if it was waiting for someone to cover it with his or her own electronic toys.

He walked into the room, looking over each piece of equipment, his hand running over the empty desk. His mind racing, he walked back out into the bedroom and across to the far side, where there was a large bathroom with a soaking tub and a shower big enough for the entire lacrosse team, and maybe the cheerleaders too. Just inside the door was another door and he pushed it open.

Derek's scent was strongest in here, which made sense because it was the closet. But it was only half full. Derek's clothes were relegated to one side and the other side was empty. Stiles' breath caught in his throat at the sight of it. He didn't know what to make of it. Derek was leaving a place in his life for someone. _Him,_ his brain helpfully supplied. But Stiles ignored it. Maybe Derek was just hoping to find someone to share his life; maybe it wasn't Stiles. Or maybe Derek was reminding himself that he never would find someone, or worse, that he didn't deserve to?

Stiles stumbled out of the closet and back into the bedroom. Suddenly, it was all too much for him. The obvious empty hole in Derek's life, just waiting, _aching_ to be filled. He wanted so much to be the one that filled it, and yet there was so much riding on it that the sheer weight of it made him breathless. He wasn't sure he could fill that hole for Derek.

Air. He needed air. Blindly, he fumbled toward the French doors, scrabbling at them until finally he was outside where he could gulp in large gasps of air. Greedily, his lungs sucked it in, his hands clutching the smooth wood of the railing.

He never heard the front door open, or Derek yell his name. Never heard the footsteps as they bounded up the stairs. Never saw Derek stall just inside the door, watching him warily, before crossing the floor and following him outside.

But as soon as Derek stepped up beside him, placing his hands on the railing, Stiles knew. Without a word, he stretched his pinky out and linked it with Derek's, his breath shuddering out of him. They stood quietly for several long moments, just breathing, Stiles' pinky finger wrapped tightly around Derek's as if it was a lifeline.

"You did this for me," Stiles whispered.

"It doesn't," Derek started, "I mean, you don't have to –"

"Shh," Stiles shifted his hand, placing it completely on top of Derek's. "You did this for me."

Derek was silent, his body tense. Stiles waited and second by second the tension finally drained out of Derek's body. When it was completely gone, Derek spoke again.

"I wanted you to have someplace to come home to."

Without a word, Stiles let go of Derek's hand, and flung himself at Derek, arms wrapping around his waist, face buried in his neck. Tears ran down his cheeks and dampened Derek's neck as Derek wound his arms around him and held him tightly.

"Are you home Stiles? Are you home for good?" Derek asked, the vulnerability in his voice sending shockwaves through Stiles.

Stiles drew back to meet Derek's eyes. With a trembling hand he reached up and cupped Derek's cheek. Derek's eyes shut and he pressed into the touch, turning slightly to place a barely there kiss on Stiles' palm.

"Yeah, Derek, I'm home. I'm home for good."

The hold of Derek's arm around his waist tightened, taking his breath away. Afterward neither of them would remember who moved first, but the next thing Stiles knew, they were kissing. Lips crushed against lips, tongues together, breath mingled, and Derek's fingers digging into the small of his back and the nape of his neck until there was no space left between them.

Then Derek was pushing Stiles back into the house, stripping off his shirt and kicking off his shoes as they went. Stiles fumbled in his haste to shed his own clothes and Derek caught him, lifting him up, one hand on his back, the other on his ass. Stiles took advantage of it and eagerly wrapped his legs around Derek's waist. Derek stumbled and they fell onto the bed causing Stiles to break the kiss so he could laugh.

The sound was light and happy and it filled the room. Derek's own chuckle followed, just as happy but with a hint of darkness and promise. Stiles would do anything to hear that laugh and all Derek's different laughs for the rest of his life.

Derek nosed along Stiles' neck, licking, nibbling, and occasionally biting until Stiles' fingers gripped his back and little whimpering sounds slipped out of his mouth. Letting go of Derek's shoulders, Stiles grabbed his face again. "Need you, your mouth," he murmured, kissing Derek's cheeks. "Need it on mine."

He felt Derek smile against the thin skin of his collarbone and then they were kissing again. Stiles shifted his legs, letting Derek settle between them. "Oh fuck," he moaned, when he felt Derek's hard length slide against his, separated by too many layers of clothes.

Stiles thrust his hips up to meet Derek's as their tongues tangled and teeth clashed. Breathy moans and muttered names filled the room until white-hot pleasure washed over him and he sank his teeth into Derek's shoulder, chanting his name like a prayer.

Derek shuddered through his own orgasm before sliding off to the side and gathering Stiles up against him. They lay panting, hearts pounding, and sweat glistening on their bodies. When Stiles came around enough to speak, he turned his head, pressing a kiss to Derek's shoulder. "Holy shit that was amazing."

"Gimme ten minutes and we can do it again."

"Yes!" Stiles fist pumped the air. "Holy werewolf refractory period, Batman. Hot damn! How often do you think we can get it done before the pack arrives?"

"You're ridiculous."

Stiles propped himself up on his elbow to look Derek in the eye. "Yeah, but you love it."

Derek's face turned serious and his hand slid up from Stiles' lower back to cup the nape of his neck. "No, I love you."

He leaned up and kissed Stiles, sucking on his lower lip, drawing it into his mouth, until Stiles shifted, draping himself over Derek and things turned heated once again.

Hours later Stiles woke up alone. There was already moonlight casting a silvery glow across the deep blue of the feather bed covering him. He stretched languidly, a blush rising to his cheeks at the achiness in his bones and other parts. He could hear the pack downstairs but when he sat up in bed, he saw Derek standing out on the porch.

Grabbing a fresh pair of boxer briefs from his bag, he dragged them on before joining Derek outside.

"Pack's here," Derek said.

"I heard."

He moved to stand next to Derek at the railing, the full moon accentuating the red of his eyes. "They're here to run aren't they?"

"Yes," Derek answered, a growl in his voice.

"You should run, all of you. I'm sure Allison and I can scare up some food."

"It's not just Allison, Danny's down there as well, along with Felicity? I think that’s her name. She’s the human girlfriend of one of the newer members."

"Well, then it'll be a party," Stiles said, clapping his hands together, in a vain attempt to hide his anxiety at seeing everyone, especially strangers.

"I could stay, let Scott be the reigning Alpha tonight."

"No, no, you should go. I know you want to, right?" Stiles asked, although he already knew the answer. He could practically feel Derek vibrating beside him, the power rippling over his skin. It felt heady and overwhelming and it made Stiles' heart feel like it was overflowing.

"Yeah, I really do, it would be the first time with my – with you back here waiting for my return."

Stiles grinned and bumped Derek's shoulders. "Go on, show 'em how it's done. I'll be here when you get back."

"You sure?" Derek asked, stripping out of his own boxers.

Stiles' mouth went dry as he stared at Derek's naked form. Derek smirked. Stiles gulped. "Um, yeah, you should go do that and I'm just gonna –"

Quick as a flash, Derek reached out and grabbed Stiles' arm, pulling him close. "Wait for me," he growled softly.

The sound went right to Stiles' cock and a needy sound rushed out. "I will."

"Good," Derek gave him a wolfish grin before leaping off the balcony and shifting in midair to land on four paws.

Stiles let out a bark of laughter. "I love you, you crazy wolf! I'll be here when you get back. Don't get lost."

Derek shifted back long enough to yell out a final retort. "As if I ever could, not with you to guide me home."

Stiles watched as Derek lifted his head and howled. Within seconds, the rest of the pack joined him outside. Mere seconds after that, they all disappeared into the woods. When he was sure they were gone, he whispered after them. "No, you were the one that guided me home."

Off in the distance a wolf howled and Stiles smiled.

 

**The End.**

_You're everything I need  
And all that I could never ever lose…._

_You're the gravity that's taken hold of me_  
_Every time I lose my way_  
_It's the chemistry more than eyes can see_  
_And no matter where I am_  
_I will still find you_  
_I will still find you_  
_If I was blindfolded_

                  --  Kris Allen

 

**Author's Note:**

> The minor character that dies is the Sheriff :((( Sorry *hides* He gets shot in a convenience store robbery. Not described in the actual fic. The canonical character deaths are the fact that Erica and Boyd are still dead :(((((
> 
> Also, own Teen Wolf? HA H AH HA yeah, no. I wish :D There would be MORE SHIRTLESS SCENES if I did.
> 
>  
> 
> Check out the AMAZING Tumblr art that [Unightfog did here.](http://unightfog.tumblr.com/post/73850702913/i-have-no-idea-who-you-are-ive-never-seen-you)
> 
> Also, you can find me on [Tumblr HERE](http://thraceadams.tumblr.com/)


End file.
